


A fistful of Castles

by Pegship



Category: Castle
Genre: Alternate Universe, Castle Ficathon, Drama, F/M, Humor, Memories, Multiple Crossovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 09:21:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 23,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9173326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pegship/pseuds/Pegship
Summary: Post-"Crossfire". Castle and Beckett are rushed to the hospital, and Beckett is trying to get news of Castle's condition as she fades in and out of consciousness. In between moments of lucidity, she dreams...and so does Castle. My mini-ficathon entry for the 2016 Summer Castle Ficathon.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILER ALERT: This begins directly after the scene in the series finale where Castle and Beckett have been shot and, in my headcanon, survive long enough for emergency personnel to save them.

Throughout the rush of activity in the loft, behind the cacophony of emergency personnel and the voices Kate Beckett recognized, there was one all-important presence that she could not see, hear, or sense.

"Castle," she tried to shout, but it came out in a whisper. Maybe he was trying to call her as well and she just couldn't hear him. She tried again, and this time the EMT leaned close and asked her to repeat it.

"Castle," said Kate. "Where is he? I can't hear him."

The medic glanced to one side and said, "They're loading him now on a gurney."

"Alive?"

"Monitors are lit and active," said the man, "a good sign. We're taking you both to St. Simon's. Try to stay still, okay?"

_Alive_ , she chanted in her head. _He's alive_.

Consciousness was a fickle visitor over the next few days. Every time Kate's brain swam to the surface, her first word was always the same.

"Castle?"

Someone must have explained to the medical personnel what she meant; after the first few times she said it, they would answer with, "He's alive," or "In surgery," or "I'll check", after which, usually, no further information was forthcoming. She appreciated the effort going into keeping her alive, she knew they were concerned about her, she fully intended to pull through and recognize these amazing people.

It wouldn't be worth it, though, if Castle didn't make it.


	2. Joey Buchanan

Someone was crying, and trying to hide it. A short sniffle, a truncated sob, a word or two muffled as though spoken against hands covering one's face.

"Castle?" Kate whispered.

She heard someone breathe deeply, then a voice answered. "Um, are you looking for someone?"

She opened her eyes and started to speak - but what she saw stopped her cold.

"Castle?"

It wasn't Castle. It was a young man who might have been Castle twenty years ago: tall, gangly, not quite filled out yet, with a mop of dark hair and eyes that would have been prettier if they hadn't been red from weeping. He stood with his hands shoved in his pockets, struggling to put composure back on his face.

"Are you lost, miss? There's no castle here...I've lived here my whole life, and...oh, God."

He turned away, swiping a hand over his face where tears spilled.

Kate stepped a little closer and laid her hand on his arm. "Hey. Are you okay? Can I help?"

She didn't know what was going on - she seemed whole and healthy, and this man didn't know her, but her instincts always ran to finding people to help.

The young man looked up, not at her, but at the twilight horizon and the hillside dotted with lights from a town.

"Nobody can," he said sadly. "I'm just a fool, that's all."

 _Yeah, well, aren't we all_ , thought Kate. "What's your name?"

"Joey - I mean - Joe," he told her. "Joe Buchanan. I live down there - at least, I did. I don't ever want to go back."

"Why not?"

"It's complicated." His voice was dull and defeated. "My mother will probably never speak to me again, and Dorian - "

He picked up a stone from the dirt path and flung it, hard, at nothing. Then he deflated.

"It doesn't matter. Nothing matters."

Kate gambled on what did matter and asked, "Dorian - is that your girlfriend?"

He turned to stare at her. "You don't know? Dorian Lord?"

"I don't. I'm not from anywhere near here."

"Lucky you. Well, the short version is that I fell in love with a woman I thought loved me - and as it turns out - she only - only meant to seduce me to get back at my mother."

 _Good Lord_ , thought Kate. _It's_ Temptation Lane. Aloud, she said, "She and your mother had a grudge of some kind? Your mom didn't like her?"

Joe barked out a laugh. "You could say that. They've hated each other for years. Probably since - well, before I was born." At Kate's puzzled look, he went on, "Dorian's older than me. Close to my mother's age. I thought - to me, she was beautiful regardless of age."

"Are you sure about her?" When he bristled, Kate added, "When did you find out she was stringing you along?"

"Just today, a few hours ago. I'm - trying to calm down enough to go talk to Dorian."

"You haven't talked to her yet?" Kate asked incredulously. "You have to get her side of the story, Cas- - Joe. You need to know her story before you make up your mind."

"I know her story," said Joe stubbornly. "At least, I thought I did. What are you, a marriage counselor?"

"I'm a cop," said Kate. "Or - was, before I was shot."

"Wow. How long ago was that?"

She couldn't very well say she wasn't sure. She didn't want to lose the confidence of this angry young man, by admitting she might be hallucinating.

"A while back," she hedged. "I'm on leave, recovering."

"Good luck with that," he said without malice. "I'd almost rather have a bullet wound than a broken heart."

"Oh, for Pete's sake," Kate muttered, then spoke up. "Listen, Joe, I don't know you, and I don't know Dorian or your mother. What I do know is that you have to live life one moment at a time - don't let your wounds fester, whether they're physical or metaphoric. Don't assume you know someone's story until they themselves tell it to you."

His expression was startled, but he was listening.

"And above all," Kate said, "if you find someone you think might be the love of your life, don't let them go. I don't mean act on what you feel, not always - but don't pass up a chance to know them better. The last thing you want is to look back on your life and wonder, _if only_."

Joe Buchanan heaved a deep breath, and his countenance seemed to settle into earnest resolve.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Kate. Kate Bec - Kate Castle." She gave him a sheepish smile. "Newlywed. Still getting used to it."

"Well...It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Castle."

He stuck his hand out and she took it; on impulse she stretched up on her toes to kiss his cheek. God, he even smelled like Rick - clean and warm and all _male_.

When she stepped back, Joe was smiling, just a little curl of his lips.

"You want to walk into town with me? I'd offer you a ride, but I'm on foot myself."

"Thanks, but I'll be fine," said Kate. "I forgot - Castle's supposed to meet me up the road a bit."

He nodded. "Thanks for the talk. I - I think it helped."

"You're going to be okay, Joe Buchanan," Kate told him, and turned to walk on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Joey Buchanan is a character from the American daytime drama _One Life To Live_ , played by Nathan Fillion from 1994 to 1997.


	3. Sunday in the park with Rick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: And now, over to what's going on in Rick's head...

It was as if someone had sunk an axe into his chest, and he wished someone would take it out. His right arm was almost numb, though he could feel the familiar stick of an IV port in his he having a heart attack? No, all the pain was on the right side, not the left. He could breathe only shallowly, and he could hear people moving around, though seemingly at a great distance.

He was desperate to know what was happening to Kate. Or even where she was.

Whatever that IV was dripping into his veins - it wasn't working. Not on the pain, anyway. It was sure keeping him from waking fully; the most activity he could produce was a weak flutter of eyelids and a few twitches of his fingers.

"Mr. Castle, can you hear me? If you can hear me, open your eyes. Mr. Castle?"

The voice seemed to be fading, and at any rate he really couldn't open his eyes, they were so heavy, and it was so cold anyway…

_"Time machine?"_

_"Only to go back and fall in love with you all over again."_

* * *

His first clear thought was, _Too far. I've come back too far_.

He wasn't at a book launch party, and Detective Kate Beckett was not there. Kate Beckett was - but it was Officer Beckett, in uniform. Standing there, holding the reins on a horse, in the middle of Central Park, at night.

He could hear himself talking, to the older man standing directly in front of him. Officer O'Leary, if he was seeing the badge clearly.

"Officer, do you know what day it is? The first day of spring. The warmest first day of spring that New York has ever seen. Surely, in the spirit of celebration - "

"Mr. - Castle, is it? Celebration or no, I'm going to have to take you in. Wandering round the park in the buff is one thing, I see far too much of that," said the man. "But this horse is property of the New York Police Department and - "

"He's on a break," Rick explained patiently. He vaguely remembered invoking this legal point. "Civil service rules demand a fifteen-minute break every - "

"Wish I were on a break," muttered Officer Beckett. The horse snorted against her shoulder and she didn't flinch, just stroked its nose and spoke quietly to it.

"My sentiment exactly," said the older cop to the younger. "Now, Mr. Castle, if you will please keep hold of that blanket, I won't have to put cuffs on you, but you're coming with me."

Rick realized that he was indeed holding onto a blanket, rather scratchy, but sufficient to cover his assets. He remembered now that it had come from the trunk of the police car that had cut him off in the park. The car he'd tried to get the horse to jump over, at which point the intelligent animal had swerved and skidded to a halt, causing Rick to slide off onto the grass.

Just as well. His knees had been getting sore from trying not to let the saddle chafe him in sensitive areas.

"Can you get him back to the barn, Kate?" asked O'Leary. "Or you'll have to wait for 'em to come get him."

"I'll take him back," said Officer Kate Beckett readily.

Rick turned and walked backward toward the squad car so that he could watch her adjust the stirrups and swing smoothly into the saddle, not sparing himself so much as a glance. When Rick turned back around (after bumping into said squad car), O'Leary had a smirk on his face.

"Dream on, Mr. Castle," he said. "She's the finest of New York's finest. Not one to give a miscreant like you the time of day. Get in, now, watch your head. And be sure you sit on the blanket."

Rick followed orders and was soon ensconced in the back of the cruiser, finally realizing the one drawback to walking through life in the nude. He had no pad and pencil to jot down the many thoughts (some even suitable for publication) stirred by Officer Kate Beckett, her trim dark uniform, and her bright hazel eyes.

To his past self, present-day Rick thought, _You have no idea._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a variation on an incident mentioned in the _Castle_ pilot episode, "Flowers For Your Grave". Officer O'Leary is on loan ever so briefly from Garrae's superb ["What's In A Name"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7639951).


	4. Robert Graves

She was still outdoors - but it was bright daytime, and she could smell water nearby - a lake? Not running water. A beach?

Kate opened her eyes on yet another unknown landscape. A lake, definitely, with an old cabin on the far side, a few docks and dinghies dotting the shores. The air was woodsy and clean, nothing at all like New York City, and she took a deep breath of it.

Her eyes fell on the sole moving creature in view - a man in a small boat, close to the center of the lake, with some black bulky device on the wooden thwart in front of him. As she watched, a stack of paper beside him stirred in the wind and started to waft away, floating and falling like perfectly shaped leaves into the lake and the bottom of the boat.

The man seemed to be wrestling with the black device - it was a typewriter! An *old* typewriter - cursing at it, finally looking up to see the papers jumping ship. That elicited a howl from the boater, who scrambled to grab the rest of the stack and slap something on top of it, perhaps a box lid.

He looked up and around, probably wondering if anyone had witnessed this disaster, and his eye fell on Kate, who was sitting on the end of a dock. His expression of frustration gave way to one of embarrassment, and he flashed her a patently manufactured smile.

"Too bad," she called. "Hope it's replaceable."

"Yeah, me too," was his response. He collected the last few soggy pages and started the boat's engine and, to her surprise, putt-putted over to within a few feet of where she sat and shut it off.

Kate looked down into the boat, at the bits and pieces of paper and machinery, and said, "You're a writer?"

"On my better days," said the man. He looked up at her, one hand on the dock to keep his boat steady, and once more she was shocked into recognition.

Whereas Joe Buchanan had been an early version of Rick Castle, this man would have been only slightly younger than her husband. Mid-thirties maybe, with longer hair and an easy physicality to the way he handled the boat.

"What's your name?" Kate asked. "Maybe I've read your work."

"Robert Graves," he replied. "I've only written one book. Fiction. Not widely distributed." He sounded, not bitter, but modest. Definitely unlike Castle.

"Are you trying to get inspired?" Kate asked next, gazing around at the scenery. "It's a good spot for it. Maritime mishaps notwithstanding."

"Thought the water would be - I don't know, inducive to calm, or something," said Robert. "I think I'll stick to my own natural habitat for now."

"Do you live on the lake?"

"Over there," he said, waving toward the cabin almost directly opposite. "My wife Molly and I. We just - moved in last week. How about you?"

How about her? She had no idea where she was, how she had gotten there, and why she kept encountering men who reminded her of Castle. Who might be dead by now - but she shoved that thought away. When she looked at Robert Graves, it was through a sheen of tears.

"I'm here to - well, get away from it all," she improvised. "I'm from the city."

"What city?"

"New York City," she said, again wondering about her current situation.

"I grew up there," said her neighbor. "Been a while since I - well. Are you here by yourself?"

As far as she knew - "Yes." Kate told him the only thing she was sure of. "I was shot, back home, both my husband and I. I'm recovering - but my husband - he might not."

She dropped her head in her hands. Robert Graves pulled his boat in closer and grabbed her ankle to get her attention.

"Hey," he said quietly. "That's hard, I know how hard, believe me. Sometimes you can't do anything for people you love. You gotta keep going, though. Gotta keep going, for those that need you still."

Kate's voice wavered. "Sounds like you speak from experience."

He grimaced, and let go of her, looking back across the lake at the cabin.

"You're not wrong," he said sadly. "I gotta keep going, too."

"I will if you will."

His smile appeared briefly, this time in earnest, and he pushed off the dock a little and saluted her.

"You take care, now," he said, starting the engine, and Kate watched the water churn in his wake as he headed for home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Robert Graves is the lead character in the 2003 film _Water's Edge_ , portrayed by Nathan Fillion.


	5. Times Square

Rick didn't mind the hallucinations, as long as Kate appeared in them.

He was alone, in Times Square, on New Year's Eve - okay, not alone, not really, but as alone as one could get in a crowd of thousands. Thousands of humans making noise, dancing, drinking, engaging in activities probably better enjoyed in private (but then, who was he to judge? Been there, done that).

He stood with his back against a building, looking up at the glittering ball shining with the year 1999. Let's see...Alexis was five years old. They were living in the apartment he had before the loft, and his neighbor's daughter was babysitting while Alexis tried valiantly to stay awake until midnight. (He couldn't remember now whether she'd managed it.)

So why the hell was he here, not _alone_ alone, but _sans_ escort? Oh, right. For weeks he'd been stuck in a battle with a plot twist he couldn't seem to get his characters out of. Even during the holidays, Black Pawn had been hinting that perhaps their investment in his talent was no longer merited.

He'd thought a change of scene would help, so he and Alexis had spent Christmas in Miami with his mother (and her second husband), but when they'd returned to his native turf the battle had not been resolved. So he'd decided to spend New Year's Eve with the "city that never sleeps".

There were people close by where he stood now, people he could have struck up a conversation with. People who might have sparked something in his torpid mind (or at least some other semi-torpid parts of his anatomy). There was a certain relief, though, in being still and just looking on - like being in the eye of a tornado, in the midst of the party but not a part of it. Surrounded and yet untouched…

Someone came purposefully down the sidewalk, yelling something he couldn't yet make out. As she came closer to him, hopping to look over the heads of those nearby, she hollered again.

"Chris! _Christopher_!"

She stopped to catch her breath, arms wrapped around herself for warmth. The bulk of her coat and scarf masked her true form, but she was certainly tall-ish for a girl; strands of brown hair strayed from under her knit cap, which he now saw had STANFORD emblazoned on it.

She turned fully toward him, looking past him for the elusive "Chris", and Rick caught his breath, realizing why her body language seemed familiar.

"Kate," he said under his breath. For better or worse, she didn't seem to hear him, but she didn't move, either. She was about ten feet to his left, her back against the same building, her beautiful features twisted into a petulant grimace.

"Lose someone?" asked Rick, raising his voice.

Kate's eyes met his. It was unnerving to see no sign of recognition in them.

"My friend," she said shortly. "One minute he was there, and the next he spotted someone he knew and said he'd be right back."

"Let me guess - thirty minutes ago?"

"Forty-five," she shrugged.

"Hell of a haystack to go looking for a needle in," he said, nodding at the sea of craziness. She shrugged again.

"I'm not worried about him," she told Rick. "We both grew up in the city. He knows his way around. He'll be okay."

"What about you?"

This time she shot him a look, clearly an early version of the Beckett "don't mess with me" expression he knew so well.

"I'll be fine," she said flatly. Her eyes raked him up and down, no doubt in case she had to pick him out of a lineup later, but when her eyes came back to his face, she was frowning again, more curious than annoyed.

Rick endured her scrutiny easily, resisting the impulse to ask if she saw anything she liked. By his rapid calculation, this Kate would be of college age (thus the STANFORD hat), ten years younger than himself. Young enough to be mildly suspicious of an older man chatting her up in Times Square. Young enough…

He felt a sudden chill in his heart. 1999 would be here in five minutes, according to the giant countdown clock. And along with it, the beginning of the worst year of young Kate's life. The year Johanna Beckett would be found murdered in an alley on January 9.

"Aren't you - " she began to say.

"What's your - " he started at the same time, then forced a smile and gestured for her to go on.

"Haven't I seen you in the papers?" she asked. "You're a writer, aren't you? Times Best Seller List?"

"Richard Castle," he said, extending a hand, which she shook.

"I thought so," she crowed. "My mom is going to be so jealous that I met you. She loves your books."

"Glad to hear it," said Rick. "How about you? Have you read them?"

"Well, I'm not really into the crime novel genre," she said unapologetically. "I read a lot of literature in translation. Russian, French, that sort of thing."

"You go to Stanford?"

"What clued you in, the hat?" She grinned. "Yeah, I want to do pre-law. I'm just getting the general ed stuff out of the way."

"You could be the first female Chief Justice of the Supreme Court," he suggested.

Kate beamed at the compliment, and Rick had to work hard to stay in the moment. This was the incandescent, hopeful Kate Beckett, the world at her feet, on track to chase her dreams, little knowing how soon she would find herself derailed.

By now they were standing shoulder to shoulder, and the final minute of 1998 started ticking away. The two of them had drifted closer to each other, and on impulse Rick curled his gloved hand around Kate's. She didn't seem to mind, but grinned up at him.

"I'm Kate, by the way," she said.

Forty-five seconds.

"I'm glad to have met you, Kate," said Rick.

Thirty-five seconds.

"Too bad you couldn't find your friend," he said.

Twenty-five seconds.

"I don't mind," said Kate. "He'll have some story to tell tomorrow."

Twenty seconds.

"How about you? Do you have a story?" asked Rick.

Fifteen seconds, and both of them had their eyes trained on the shiny 1999 ball as the crowd began to chant.

"Doesn't everyone?" she countered.

Ten seconds. Nine. Eight. Seven.

Kate turned her gaze upon him, as though his answer was more important than the impending moment, and he forgot everything he knew about her past, and her present, and his lips parted to reply -

"ONE," roared the crowd.

She must have stood on the toes of her boots to reach; he felt her hand on the back of his neck, tugging him down to kiss him, long and slow, letting the seconds go by without so much as a whisper, let alone a shout.

When they separated and he opened his eyes, she was smiling up at him, the same smile she'd shown him when he'd proposed to her, when he'd married her, the ear-to-ear brilliance that she only ever showed to him.

The universe, he thought to himself - the universe knows we belong together. Always.

"Happy new year," he said aloud.


	6. Johnny Donnelly

She was still seated, but not at a table - at a bar. The door to her right, a clump of people standing around by the window, and - a laundromat? next door. Actually, the laundromat looked like it was part of the bar. Or vice versa.

"Hey, pretty lady," said a voice on her left, and for once it wasn't Castle's voice she heard. The man who had just walked up was not tall, but he was handsome, in a college-boy sort of way.

"Hey," she said, wondering where in her subconscious mind this guy came from.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he asked hopefully.

"No, I'm good," said Kate, thankful that there was indeed a beer on the bar in front of her. "Thanks, anyway."

"How about a spin?" he grinned, undaunted. "You know, like in a washer?"

She smiled in spite of herself and shook her head. "No, I'm - waiting for someone," she said truthfully. "D'you come here often? I mean, besides on laundry day?"

"This is my first time," said the man, parking himself on the stool next to her. "First time here, I mean. Not my first time doing laundry. Definitely not. I'm Pete, by the way."

"Kate," said Kate. "Nice meeting you, Pete."

"And I'm Johnny."

There was that voice. She turned to her right and met a pair of lively eyes and a friendly smile; this incarnation of Rick Castle was the jeans-and-plaid-shirt type, smelled of Old Spice and soap. His hair was longer, and he looked much younger than Castle but not quite as young as Joey. He shook her hand as she introduced herself.

Pete spoke up again. "So you're not laundering at the moment?"

"Nope. Just waiting and drinking, and watching people go by. You guys live around here?"

"Yep," said Pete. "My roommate's the one who found this place. He's over there, somewhere."

He waved vaguely toward the laundromat; the guy indicated was tall, with dirty blond hair that stuck straight up on end and a baby face. He was standing in front of one of the washing machines as if guarding Fort Knox, casting baleful glances at everyone who passed.

"That's your roommate?" she asked, amused.

"That's Berg," said Johnny. "He's a doctor, he's kind of paranoid - and last time we were here somebody made off with his laundry."

"That explains the feral look," said Kate. She looked over at Johnny and tried to sound casual. "Do you have a roommate?"

"I have a fiancee," he said proudly. "Sharon. We're getting married in - a couple of months."

"A fiancee," Kate echoed. Even with the certainty that this was a hallucination, that word made her feel a little hollow.

"Yeah, Sharon and I have been friends for years," said Pete. "She's been seeing Johnny for what, about six or seven months? She finally said 'yes'."

"She must be a very lucky girl," she said.

"I'm a lucky guy," Johnny said. "I'm crazy about her."

"She's kind of tightly wound," said Pete in a tone that *might* have been teasing.

"But in a good way," said Johnny.

"High maintenance," Pete muttered.

Johnny frowned. "I can handle her," he said. "If she's crazy, well, then, she's my kind of crazy."

Kate chuckled and both men looked at her.

"Sounds like my husband," she explained. "Not the high maintenance part - "

"Which is not true of Sharon." Johnny scowled at Pete.

" - but the crazy part. I thought once I couldn't stand him, but now I can't live without him."

"That sounds more like Berg and Ashley," Pete muttered. "Speaking of which, I'm gonna go run interference."

He disappeared into the laundry throng. Kate decided she didn't want to know about Berg's love life. These episodes were like fragments of several soap operas strung together without explanation, and she didn't feel motivated to figure out the common theme.

Except that at least once character always looked like Castle - but was not.

"If you don't mind my asking," she said to Johnny, "how would _you_ describe your fiancee? Now that I've heard Pete's obviously biased opinion."

Johnny laughed. "He's known Sharon a long time, but not like I have. She does get wound pretty tight, but it's usually over something she cares about. And she's into the finer things, if you get what I mean. That's why I wonder sometimes why she fell for me."

"It's not always about fine or not-so-fine," said Kate. "It's about being perfect for each other, not being perfect, period."

"How'd you meet your husband? If you don't mind my asking," he asked in his turn.

"I was a detective for the NYPD. He's a mystery novelist. We spent time solving a case together, he started shadowing me for 'research'," she gave it finger quotes, "and, well, eight years later, here we are."

She felt a moment of panic, wondering where Castle really was, whether these visions were her last seven minutes of life. She looked up to find Johnny's blue eyes gazing at her with something like - reassurance?

"Is that who you're waiting for?" asked Johnny, and when she nodded he asked, "You sure he's going to show? It's getting late."

"Absolutely," she said. "He's only ever stood me up once. And that was totally not his fault."

She spotted Pete coming back their way with Berg and his laundry in tow, so before their conversation could get interrupted, she said to Johnny Donnelly, "Don't let anyone talk you out of marrying Sharon if you're really crazy about her. It sounds like you two are good for each other."

"I think so, too," said Johnny, clinking glasses with her in a toast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Johnny Donnelly was a recurring character, played by Nathan Fillion, on the TV sitcom _Two Guys, A Girl and a Pizza Place_ from 1998 to 2001.


	7. Jim Beckett

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of things. First, be advised that this chapter includes references to alcoholism and recovery, so if you'd rather not read, no harm, no foul, just skip to the next chapter. Secondly, I have kept the timing vague, so anyone trying to follow a strict timeline in Kate's life, I pray your pardon. Thirdly, I have attended more than one AA meeting, so if the scenario here doesn't ring true for you, let me just say that everyone's experience is different.

"My name is Jim," said a quiet voice. "And I'm an alcoholic."

"Hi, Jim," came a chorus of male voices.

Castle glanced around. The room he was in looked like a rec hall or YMCA, and it was filled with folding chairs; the men seated thereupon ran the gamut in appearance, from sharply dressed to threadbare, from grubby to squeaky clean, most of them middle-aged. He himself sat at the edge of the group, for a change not in the social center. More like an observer.

"This is my first visit to A.A.," the speaker went on. He stood in the midst of the group, facing away from Castle about twenty feet away. He was of middle height and build, with sandy gray hair and a tweed jacket. His hands were in his pockets and he seemed at ease.

Then he turned his head, looking around, and Castle realized it was Jim Beckett. Kate's father.

"It's been two weeks since I last had a drink," said Jim. "That's the longest I've gone sober since my - since I lost my wife. Seems like I've been underwater ever since. I'm not a public drinker - I come home and start with one, to unwind, and I just can't seem to stop."

There was a murmur of agreement from the group.

"I'm not used to being out of control," Jim continued. "Always managed to work through disappointment or adversity or personal crisis. But Jo - " He drew a deep, shaky breath. "Jo was always my strength, when I needed it, and I was there for her as well. But now she's gone and I don't know how to get through each day without her."

Castle's heart ached for the man. More than once in his own life, he'd thought he'd lost someone he loved, suddenly and through violence, and yet, until now, the universe had come through. He brought Alexis home from Paris; Kate had healed from her wounds at the hand of the sniper in the cemetery, had escaped death at the hands of Vulcan Simmons and Michael Tyson and who knew how many more.

He'd been lucky, or blessed. His loved ones had returned home. Johanna Beckett had not.

"I drink to try to erase the last two years of my life - to shut out the memory of her death - to pretend it never happened," said Jim. "It never really goes away. It's like the ghost at the banquet - no matter how deep I try to sink into oblivion, it's always part of my life. It always will be."

He took another deep breath, straightened his shoulders.

"I have a daughter," he said. "She's an adult. She has her own demons - not the same as mine, thank God. And she's there for me, as much as she can be, but she's lost one parent - I don't want her to lose another. I need to do this for her. Quit drinking, for her."

Another encouraging murmur. This time Castle joined in. Apparently that was all Jim had to say; he nodded to the group en masse and sat down, and the person running the meeting called for anyone else who wanted to speak.

Ten minutes later, the meeting broke up. Castle wasn't sure what to do with himself - why he was even here. If these interludes were all connected to Kate in some way, why wasn't she here? Then he realized that this was the most important connection in her life, even after she met him.

_"My dad took her death hard. He's sober now. Five years." Kate showed him the watch she always wore. "This is for the life I saved."_

"Excuse me."

Castle lifted his eyes to find Jim Beckett standing in front of him, a polite smile on his face.

"It's probably not the usual thing at these meetings," said Jim as Castle leaped to his feet. "But I feel like I know you from somewhere."

"I have that kind of face," Castle hedged. "People mistake me for Jason Bateman. A lot. I'm - Roger, by the way."

"Good to meet you."

The two of them fell into step, heading out the door, and Castle said, "Congratulations, by the way. On your five days."

Jim's smile faded a little.

"Doesn't sound like much, does it?" he said as they reached the sidewalk. "But for me, it's like - one giant leap for mankind."

"No, I get it. Five days can be a lifetime. It sounds like you have good backup, anyway."

"Yes. Katie's a gem. Like her mom. She's so strong, but I don't want to wear her out. It's been two years now since it happened, and she's found a new direction for her life. I'd better get going on mine."

"One step at a time, right?"

Jim nodded, then turned at the sound of a pair of boots approaching. Castle looked over the man's shoulder just long enough to catch a glimpse of dark hair and a pale face before taking two steps back into the shadows of the stairwell nearby.

"Katie," Jim was saying. "Didn't expect to see you here. Come to see your old man home?"

"Of course not," said the voice of Kate Beckett. "I just wanted - you said you'd be at this meeting and I wanted to see - how you're doing."

The tone of her voice was completely alien to Castle - hesitant, almost afraid.

"Oh, Katie. C'mere." Jim must have pulled her into an embrace; Castle could hear his voice muffled, probably in her hair. "Whatever happens, honey, I'm going to be okay. You have to believe that."

"That's my line, Dad." A watery laugh.

"And you're going to be okay, too. We're not the same people we were two years ago...but we're not the same people we'll be two years from now, either."

"I just wish I knew that we'd both be better in two years."

"We're already better," said Jim fiercely, as if trying to convince himself. "You and me, Katie. 'We ain't what we should be and we ain't what we gonna be, but thank God, we ain't what we was', remember?"

"Martin Luther King, Jr.," Kate replied. "You and me, Dad."

"Now, do you want to get some pie and coffee? And then I can see _you_ home."

Castle heard their footsteps fade away.


	8. Dr. Pomatter

When Kate opened her eyes, she felt a moment of relief. She was in a hospital bed, the sounds of quiet beeping from monitors filling her ears, the too-familiar sensation of over-washed hospital sheets and gown on her skin. Maybe the hallucinations had gone -

Then she realized she wasn't attached to monitors or an IV line, and that she felt relatively fine. Her hands roamed over her body, checking - no gunshot wounds, not recent ones anyway. Her only complaint was a faint feeling of nausea and a headache.

Cautiously she opened her eyes.

"There you are," said a cheerful male voice. "Glad to see you awake. How are you feeling?"

The man was approaching her bed, smiling, with a clipboard in his hand and a stethoscope around his neck. Standard-issue white coat, and kind blue eyes. The very picture of a concerned physician.

That is, if Castle had been a physician.

Kate sighed and took in the sight of him, as though checking off his appearance against the other Castle look-alikes and Castle himself. Tall - check. Brown hair - check, about the same length as her Castle but more unruly. Maybe a little younger.

"Mrs - Beckett?"

He had to look down at his clipboard to recall her name, and it sounded strange coming from the mouth of someone who obviously didn't know her.

"How are you feeling today?"

"Okay," she managed. "I think. Okay. Who are you, again?"

"Oh, we haven't met," said the man, seating himself on a rolling stool. "I'm Dr. Pomatter. I see you came in last night with abdominal pain and a migraine."

He checked her pupils with a penlight, then took her pulse and noted it on his clipboard. Kate cleared her throat.

"Could I get some water, please?" she asked, stalling.

Dr. Pomatter smiled and rolled away on his stool, retrieving a small pitcher and a cup from a sink nearby. He rolled back without spilling a drop and set the pitcher on a table next to her bed, poured her some water, and watched her drink it.

Kate set the cup down and took a deep breath.

"It's Ms. Beckett," she said. "And I don't remember coming in. Can you tell me more about how I got here?"

"My wife was on duty last night; let me call her," said the doctor, going to the door.

His wife? The other Castles had been - wait - one had a girlfriend, one was engaged, one was married - make that two, now. Kate's consternation was increased when the doctor's wife, obviously a doctor as well, entered the room.

Great. Not only was Kate hallucinating Castle - she was also hallucinating - Meredith?

Dr. (Mrs.) Pomatter was a dead ringer for Castle's first ex-wife. Coppery hair, sparkling eyes, a mildly self-satisfied smile. She bestowed an adoring look on her husband and then turned to Kate.

"Jim says you don't remember last night," she said. "Well, you were on foot, came in the front door and sat down on the floor like you couldn't go another step. We got you into a wheelchair and put you to bed - you were talking about a castle, and somebody named Brown, and getting shot. But we didn't find any wounds on you."

"I see," said Kate, for lack of anything more sensible. "What about the abdominal pain?"

"Well, you're not pregnant," said the lady doctor. "We ran some tests. Really, it looks like you're just overworked and dehydrated. How's your head?"

"Hurts," said Kate. "Just a normal headache, though, not migraine-type. And I'm hungry."

Her stomach seconded this thought with a growl and both doctors chuckled. Dr. Pomatter patted Kate's knee.

"Since you won't be requiring my services," he said, "I'll go see what we have for you to nibble on."

As he went out of the room, Kate look inquiringly at Dr. (Mrs.) Pomatter, who said, "Jim's an ob-gyn, that's what he means. This is a small town, so we trade off rounds no matter our specialization."

She sat down on the stool and studied Kate. In a more serious tone, she said, "Do you remember anything from before you showed up here? Anything at all?"

"I was - at a bar - no, a laundromat. No, it was both. But I didn't have more than one beer. Then I went home and found my husband there making breakfast - "

"You were at a bar, in the morning?"

"No, Castle - my husband - he likes making breakfast for dinner." The thought of s'morelets made her a little bit queasier and she went on, "There was someone in our house - we didn't see him. He was hiding, waiting for us, and he shot Castle, I shot him, and he shot me. Twice."

"My goodness. Do go on."

"That's all," said Kate. "We were lying on the floor in our kitchen, holding hands. I thought we were both going to die - and then I woke up here." She wasn't about to tell this sensible woman about her three previous visions. "Is - is Castle here? Is he all right?"

"You're our only customer at the moment," said the doctor kindly. "Well, except for Mrs. Anhorn, and she won't be here much longer."

Kate must have looked startled, because Dr. (Mrs.) Pomatter said hastily, "Oh, she's all right! False labor, that's all. Third time this week."

"She's just anxious," said the first Dr. Pomatter, coming back into the room. "It's her first. Here, your chart says you're not diabetic, so I got some plain butter cookies from the break room. Should go down okay."

He poured her some more water and Kate nibbled on a cookie.

"Do you have somebody to come get you?" he asked. "It doesn't look like you came by car, and I don't want to send you home alone on the bus."

"I can get a cab," said Kate, and got an odd look from both doctors.

"There's no cab service round here," said Dr. (Mrs.) Pomatter.

"I can call Glenn to take her home in the ambulance," said her husband. "How far away do you live, Ms. Beckett?"

"How long can I stay here?" Kate countered. "I - I'd like to rest for a bit more, if that's all right."

Dr. (Mrs.) Pomatter caught her husband's eye, and the two of them withdrew as far as the doorway. Kate could pick up a few words from their hushed conversation as she tried to look preoccupied with water and cookies.

" - said - a dream - husband shot - "

" - named Castle? - "

" - disoriented - domestic trouble - "

One part of Kate wanted to rise up and refute any idea that she might have been mistreated or had hallucinated about being killed in her own home. The other part - the part that was still a cop and on red alert - told her to keep her mouth shut and wait.

A few minutes later, Dr. Pomatter came over to sit next to Kate's bed and his wife left the room.

"I'm not in any danger," said Kate immediately. "From myself, or anyone else. It was just a dream."

"I know," said the doctor. "Francine - Dr. Pomatter said she didn't find any evidence of abuse when she examined you last night. She's just going to talk to administration about how long you can stay."

He got up and wandered over to the window, hands in the pockets of his white coat.

"Shouldn't be a problem. It's not a very large facility, and nearly all the beds are empty at the moment." He turned to lean on the wall, looking mildly curious. "Which makes me wonder how you came here. This town isn't exactly on the beaten path, and your I.D. shows an address in New York City."

This episode was strangely more real to Kate than any of the previous experiences; these people were anxious to help her find out who she was and where she belonged. She wasn't about to tell anyone the truth, however - that she was probably in an altered mental state and conjuring imaginary scenarios featuring Castle look-alikes.

"I remember who I am," she told him. "Where I live, my career, my marriage, all that. I just don't know why I'm here, or even where here is."

Francine Pomatter stuck her head in the room and said urgently, "Jim, you better come see Dawn. Her water's broke and she's, well, hysterical."

Jim Pomatter was up and out of the room in a flash, his wife in tow, and Kate was alone again. Bemused and worried, she laid her head down and closed her eyes, trying to conjure images of Castle, the most recent memories of what she knew to be reality - she could at least go back to sleep and hope to wake up there.

Her ears were suddenly assaulted with the bustle of medical orders and machine noises. She struggled to open her eyes, to speak up, but it was as though she had no control over any part of her body. She recognized the voice of the surgeon she'd seen earlier - a nurse - felt a cold sting in her arm and a thick plastic intrusion in her throat.

"She's fighting it," said a voice. A warm hand was laid on her forehead and the voice spoke in her ear, urging her to calm down and let them help her, go to sleep, they won't leave her.

Then, clearly, she heard Lanie's voice from further away.

"It's all right, Kate. Castle's out of surgery. He's gonna be okay. Now relax and let them take care of you."

That did it; Kate let her thoughts float away, leaving her pain and her body to their hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Pomatter was played by Nathan Fillion in the 2007 film _Waitress_ ; his wife was played by Darby Stanchfield, who played Meredith on _Castle_.


	9. Prom

"What do you mean, you're not going to prom?"

Castle found himself seated at a table near a window, in a coffee shop he recognized from many visits. His notebook lay open before him, a pen lying on it, and the voice he'd heard had come from behind him.

It was a light, young female voice, not Beckett's, but a little familiar nevertheless. The voice that answered was extremely familiar, though also much younger.

"Don't sound so shocked. It's not a tragedy," said the voice of a young Kate Beckett. "I'm not asking you to not go, anyway."

Castle turned his head as if looking for the waitress and caught a glimpse of two young women, teenagers, one blonde, one brunette, two tables away. When he turned back around he closed his eyes and rifled through his memory for the identity of the blonde and came up with -

Madison Queller. Owner of Q3, best friend to "Rebel Becks" in high school, apparently calling Beckett on some behavior concerning prom.

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised," said Maddie with a sigh. "After Clove Boy and the grunge musician, I'm sure high school seems positively childish to you by now."

"Not childish, Mads. Just… not me. Not all of us were born to bloom into social butterflies like you. You're good at all that - " her hand wave fluttered in Castle's peripheral vision " - beautiful people, gracious living, gourmet-everything scene. I like the Village, and dive diners, and people who'll argue with me over things I care about."

"You mean, argue and not run away," said Maddie, sounding mildly amused. "Wait, is that why you're not going to prom? Did you scare off any prospective dates?"

Fortunately, Beckett also seemed amused.

"It weeds out the faint of heart," she replied. "My parents don't care if I go. Well, Mom does, but mainly because she says I'll regret it some day if I don't. I'm sure I won't be missing anything - except maybe the sight of you in that gown we saw at Macy's."

"That's what prom pictures are for," Maddie said with satisfaction. "Well, if nonconformity is what you're going for, you've hit it on the head. I don't know anyone who didn't go to their own prom."

Castle, who hadn't gone to his prom due to his participation in a prank involving a cow, smiled to himself a bit ruefully. He took a glance around the room, ascertained that there was no clock visible, and stuck his wristwatch in his pocket first, then turned to the two women and asked, "'Scuse me, do you know what time it is?"

Kate shook her head; Maddie uncovered the watch on her wrist, which looked more like jewelry, and replied, "It's four-thirty."

This Kate was even younger than the Kate of New Year's Eve, tall already, thin, with an intensely focused gaze and a continual wry expression. (It reminded him of her expression the first time they'd met, at the book launch party.) She was wearing jeans and a plaid flannel shirt with boots. (That reminded him of their makeshift honeymoon on the ranch.)

"Thanks," said Castle, having got what he wanted, which was a good long look at Kate, but a moment later, Maddie spoke up again.

"D'you mind if I ask you a personal question?"

Castle faced their tabel again and shrugged. "No charge for asking."

"Did you go to your high school prom?"

"Maddie," Kate hissed. "Aren't you assuming a lot?"

"Like what? He doesn't have to answer, anyway."

Castle said, "Assuming that I'm an American, that I went to school here - "

"That his school even had a prom," Kate put in. "And that he isn't gay."

"Well, I could have gone to school in California," Castle said. "They've had Gay Prom there for - a couple of years now, anyway."

"So did you?" asked Kate.

"No, as a matter of fact. I was born and raised in the City, went to school here - several schools, really - went to one that did have a prom. And I'm not gay, never have been."

"Which reminds me of my original question," said Maddie. "Did you go to your prom?"

Castle smiled and said, "No, I didn't."

Kate threw Maddie a look of triumph. Undaunted, Maddie pressed on. "By choice, or by chance?"

"By consequence," he said. "I got expelled the week before. Tragic. I had a hot date lined up, too."

"Oh, that *is* sad," said Maddie.

"What'd you do?" asked Kate.

"Aided and abetted in smuggling a cow onto the roof of the school."

"Not by yourself, I'm thinking."

"No, but I was the only scholarship student, and my mother didn't have friends in high places, so I took the rap." He sighed dramatically. "I showed them, though - got my GED and became a successful writer."

Maddie opened her mouth to continue the conversation, but her friend stopped her with a look, as if to warn her off further chat with this stranger.

"We should go," she said firmly. "I have to get home by five."

Castle rose to his feet and nodded politely as they went quickly out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Madison Queller appears in the _Castle_ episode "Food To Die For" in season 2. The first "official" Gay Prom was held in 1995 in Hayward, California.


	10. Luke Riley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This bit includes references to hallucinogenic plants and nudity. The author does not endorse or condemn either condition, except to suggest that you check your local laws before indulging in either.

The night was humid, like the Midwest in summer, and Kate watched as a few fireflies floated near the trees. She was sitting on a log, facing the lake, and from behind her she heard a faint peal of laughter. Then a man, singing - or trying to. More laughing, and now she had to turn around and make sure it wasn't someone with a mask and an axe.

No, it was a nearly-naked man, singing and staggering and laughing. Clad only in plaid boxers, he was making a beeline for the water and Kate knew he was about to dive in - just as surely as she knew he was high on something. Bad combination.

"Hey!" she said sharply as he drew even with her. He halted abruptly and spun to look in her direction, nearly losing what little balance he seemed to have, and Kate stifled a laugh.

"Hey yourself," said the man. He started ambling toward her, not weaving like a drunk, but more like someone who needed glasses and wasn't sure what they were looking at.

"Wanna sit?" Kate asked.

"No, I'm in a hurry, thanks," he said, then burst out laughing again, head down, hands on his knees. When he caught his breath, he looked up at Kate. "I'm in hot pursuit," he said, a bit more seriously.

"Of what?"

"Shhh," he said. "I'm hunting screwy - scwewy wabbits."

Howling with laughter, he finally came close enough to sit on the other end of the log - and missed, landing on his butt in the damp grass and leaves, which made him laugh all the louder. Kate decided not to help him up, as he seemed happy enough where he was, but when she leaned in to get a look at his face -

It really didn't surprise her any more. This man looked almost exactly like Castle the first time they met, with considerably less clothing. His hair was a bit longer than she remembered.

"What's your name?" she asked when the howling died down.

"Wabbits," he admonished hoarsely, holding a finger to his lips, so she lowered her voice to a stage whisper and asked again.

"Luke," he almost-whispered back. "Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. Except, it's Jack, Connor, Luke, and Bobby. And Maggie. And…"

He seemed to lose his already tenuous train of thought, and his words trailed off as he gazed out over the water.

She looked around and saw no one else on the landscape, and very few lights in the cabins, which were some distance from the lake. (What was it with lakes, in these visions? thought Kate.) When she turned back she found Luke staring at her as if mesmerized.

"Jenny?" he said, frowning.

"Kate," she said. "I'm Kate."

"Whew," he said. "For a second I thought you were my wife."

 _I am your wife,_ thought Kate in frustration, _just - not the wife in this dream._

Luke rose and stood with his hands on his hips, studying her, apparently making up his mind. He briskly pulled off his boxers and laid them daintily on the log beside her, sat down on them, and turned to look at her as if they were on a busy sidewalk in broad daylight.

"What brings you to our lovely lake by the - lake?" he asked.

Kate caught something odd in the scent of his breath.

"Have you been eating mushrooms?" she asked.

Luke gasped. "Have you been spying on me? Did Jenny send you?"

His shock and outrage were hilarious, as was the grin that belied his attitude. Kate couldn't help grinning back.

"No one sent me," she said, and it was the plain truth. "I'm a private detective, taking a break from a case."

"Private dick, eh?" he leered. "I got one of those, myself."

He looked pointedly downward and Kate let her gaze follow his.

"So I see," said Kate. "You won't be needing my services, then. I'll keep the mushrooms out of my report."

"Very kind of you." He crossed his right leg over his left and Kate caught a glimpse of another familiar feature, the tattoo on his right hip. "Jenny doesn't mind the weed," he went on confidentially. "But she hates when I do 'shrooms. Says it makes me all loud and obnoxious. And confrontational."

"Does it?"

"I guess," said Luke. "I don't usually remember. That's why I mostly smoke weed. Less expensive, and it doesn't mess with my memory."

Kate was fascinated by this matter-of-fact account. She didn't usually deal with suspects who were high - they were sent to sober up in a holding cell before they were interrogated.

"Where are you staying?" she asked then. "Or do you live around here?"

"Dad's cabin," said he. "With Matthew, Mark, and John."

"You mean, Jack, Connor, and Bobby."

"Yeah, them. Hey, do you know my brothers?"

She chuckled and did not reply, which didn't seem to bother her companion. He got to his feet again and took a few steps forward, hands on hips again, surveying the terrain. Kate took the opportunity to admire the nicely rounded and muscular buttocks thus displayed.

"I think the perimeter is secure," she said finally. "You can, um, stand down now."

Luke turned and looked at her with suspicious eyes. "No wabbits?"

"No wabbits," she said. "You should go back to your bunk. I'll sound the alert if anything develops."

The cartoon-style dialogue seemed to reassure him; he nodded once, then turned sharply and started to march off toward the cabins. Kate snatched up his boxers and scampered after him.

"Here you go," she said when she caught up to him. He took the shorts and stopped walking for a moment, looking puzzled.

"Why do I need these, again?" Luke asked, as if he'd forgotten.

"In case you need to cover your ass," said Kate with a nearly-straight face. Even drunk!Castle wasn't this scatterbrained.

"Right," he said and started walking again, Kate in his wake.

She'd just make sure he made it back to his cabin, then maybe she'd walk around the lake. Unless the universe changed the setting yet again.

"Which is your cabin?" she asked.

"I think - that one," he said, pointing. The building indicated had several whirly birds on the lawn and an adorable painted sign that said "Granny Laughlin" over the door. Along with the frilly lace curtains, the place looked exactly the opposite of "manly" in the usual sense of the word.

"Are you sure?" Kate asked. "You said it was your dad's cabin. Is his name Laughlin?"

"Of course not." Luke frowned at her. "Riley. His name was Riley. Like mine."

"I thought yours was Luke."

"That's my other name. Riley's my last name. Like Matthew, Mark, and John."

"Oh, okay," said Kate. She'd distracted him sufficiently to guide him past Granny's house. "Won't your brothers be worried about you?"

"Nah. Bobby and Connor are snoring, and Father Jack, well, he doesn't worry. He prays. For all the good it does."

Sudden sadness flickered across his face and he stopped walking.

"Do you think there's a God? Like Jack believes?" he asked her.

 _Wow, that got metaphysical all of a sudden,_ thought Kate.

"Whether there is or isn't," she said, "surely there's no harm in praying, just in case. Maybe it helps Jack to feel better, at the least."

Luke's face lit up again and to Kate's alarm, he threw his arms around her and hugged her tight. He smelled of mushrooms and forest grass and beer and his skin was warm…

Kate slipped out of his embrace, suddenly wary of her own instinct to kiss him and cursing the universe for her confusion.

Luke just grinned and leaned in, shaking a finger to make his point.

"You're right," he said. "And - don't call me Shirley."

He turned and ran for the next house, where the lights were off. Kate did not follow this time, but watched as he tried the back door knob, eased the door open quietly, and looked back at her with a grin and a final wave of his shorts.

She waited for a few minutes, but there was no uproar and no further sight of Luke, so she started walking back toward the lake, shaking her head.

And she thought Castle was a charming man-child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nathan Fillion played Luke Riley, one of four brothers, all of whom have secrets, in _Outing Riley_ (2004, also known as _If Dad Only Knew_ and _Doubting Riley_ ).


	11. Madison Square Garden

Suddenly Castle found himself awash in a sea of blue and a roar of sound.

He would have dropped and covered, not immediately aware of what was going on, but he was packed in tight among shouting, sweaty humans. Even with his height he couldn't see what they were shouting at, but their expressions seemed gleeful enough. He pulled his face into a grin and kept glacing around, up, behind him -

Something brushed his face and he looked up to see confetti, falling in a flurry from the ceiling, which looked vaguely familiar - The Garden, he thought. Maybe it's a sporting event?

The pressure on his shoulders and arms eased; people were moving away from him, still shouting, most heading toward the stairs. He took in a much-needed breath and spotted a flyer among the spent confetti on the floor.

THE NEW YORK CITY POLICE DEPARTMENT  
ACADEMY GRADUATION EXERCISE

A quick perusal of the page gave him the time, place, and date of the event that had apparently just concluded. It didn't take long to figure out why he was here – this would have been the year Beckett graduated from the academy.

That would put her on the vast floor of the arena, and he was - well, at least he was in the lowest tier of seats, north side. Castle followed the throng down the stairs, where the newest additions to New York's finest were cheering, hugging, yelling, and looking for friends and family.

Who would be here for Beckett? thought Castle. Her father, certainly. Maybe Aunt Theresa? Although, knowing Theresa's tendency toward agoraphobia, maybe not. He kept scanning the crowd both below and around him, searching for familiar faces and coming up empty.

When Castle reached the last step, he paused for one last look over the heads of the throng, to no avail -

"Sir, please don't stop. Keep moving, sir."

A uniformed cop with a square-ish face was directing foot traffic, a perfect public smile plastered on his face, and while he didn't lay a hand on anyone, he was obviously skilled at herding the teeming masses of New York City. He smiled and nodded as people moved past him.

"Thank you for your service, Officer - " Castle glanced at the man's name plate - "Klemp."

"Thank *you* sir," said Klemp automatically. "Please keep moving…"

"You're friends with Kate Beckett, aren't you?"

Castle had suddenly recalled who Klemp was.

" _Klemp has just been promoted to Captain. He's going to run the Nine Two," Kate had said. "We started together - we graduated together - "*_

Officer Klemp blinked and focused on Castle, who had dutifully stepped down and out of the way of traffic.

"You're thinking of my brother Anson," said the cop. "Both graduated today. You know Beckett?"

"Friend of the family," said Castle. "Any idea where they might be?"

"Alpha by surname," Klemp replied. "A's and B's near the front. You might run into Anson on your way. Try the center aisle."

With that, he was back to crowd control and Castle started making his way in the direction indicated. By the time he'd reached the first section, he'd had more than one flash of deja vu, wondering if he recognized faces that would later end up at the Twelfth.

"Klemp!" A piercing female voice struck his ear and he whirled on the spot, honing in on the sound. She wasn't calling his name, but he knew that voice nevertheless.

Her hat was tucked under her elbow and her severe hair bun was starting to unravel; her regulation shoes made her stand at least three inches shorter than Castle was used to. But it was Kate, all right, somewhere between the radiant Kate of New Year's Eve and the working cop Kate of Central Park.

Without thinking, he stepped in front of her, and she ran squarely into him, bouncing off and snapping her gaze up to his face, going from joy to irritation in a second.

"Excuse me, sir," she said tartly. "I was looking for my friend."

"Excuse me," said Castle. "Thought I saw somebody I knew. My apologies."

"Hey, Beckett!"

The newly-graduated Officer Klemp came around from behind Castle. He had a younger version of his brother's face and a buzz cut, under a hat that had been shoved rakishly toward the back of his head.

Kate high-fived him, hard, and they both laughed and shouted, "We did it!" and "Can you believe it?" and "You're buying." Then Kate said, "Hey, where are your folks?"

"Said they'd meet me at Reilly's," Klemp replied. "Your dad coming?"

"Not to Reilly's." Kate's smiled faltered for a split second. "We're going to that diner over on Second. Once I find him."

Castle, loitering nearby, spotted Jim Beckett elbowing his way through to them, but rather than flagging him down (and having to explain himself) he stood back and let the Becketts find each other. Like a compass needle, Kate turned to see her father approaching and reached out her hand.

"There you are," she said, her smile fully restored.

"Hey, Klemp," said Jim, shaking Klemp's hand. "Congratulations. Kate, I'm so proud of you. I know Jo would be too."

Kate took Jim's hand and squeezed it. "She is, Dad. I know she is."

The two of them exchanged a long look; then Klemp cleared his throat and said, "I better not keep mom and dad waiting. Talk later?"

"You bet," said Kate.

Once Klemp had merged with the now-thinning crowd, Kate took her dad's arm and said, "So, lunch?"

"Sure," said Jim. "What about - ?"

He sketched a gesture toward Castle. Kate looked baffled.

"Um, I don't know this gentleman," she said. "He's - looking for someone, I think?"

At her inquiring tone, Castle pretended to be startled, then said, "Me? Oh, yes. Looking for someone. Sorry, don't mean to intrude."

He moved away a few steps, toward the stage, where he'd actually caught sight of Roy Montgomery talking to someone of high rank, but Jim held out a hand to forestall him.

"Mr. Castle," he said. "Isn't that your name? Richard Castle?"

The side of Castle that hated walking away from Kate, any Kate, almost admitted it; the side that knew she belonged with her father on this day spoke up, though reluctantly.

"Sorry," he said again. "The name's Rodgers. And I just found the man I'm looking for, so - "

This time he made himself turn away with a smile and move purposefully further up the aisle, but after a dozen steps he couldn't resist. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw the golden-brown eyes of Kate Beckett gazing back at him, full of curiosity and confusion.

He shut his own eyes, before he could even think about running back to her side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *From season 7, "Hong Kong Hustle".


	12. Michael Ryan

Kate stood surveying her new dream surroundings. This was her kind of place - a bistro, occupying what looked like an old church, smelling of strong coffee and cigarettes, with a three-piece band providing a low, almost desultory rhythm in the background.

"Can I help you, miss?" asked a male voice, and she turned. Sure enough, there he was - or wasn't, as the case may be.

In this vision, he looked both younger and more cynical than his previous incarnations. His hair was longer and his expression pleasant but closed, a public facade, and there were dark circles under his eyes.

"Just stopped by for a drink," said Kate, unconsciously lowering the pitch of her voice, the way she did when undercover as a femme fatale. "Do you have a table?"

"Of course." His smile broadened but remained rather bland as he extended an arm, gesturing toward a table in a corner near the bar.

Kate made her way over and was startled when he pulled her chair out for her and took her coat, hanging it over the back of another chair.

"How thoughtful," she remarked. "Won't you join me?"

He seemed to hesitate, then shrugged and seated himself. "I may have to abandon you at a moment's notice," he said. "I'm obliged to - keep an eye out for certain patrons."

"You work here?" said Kate. "You don't seem the subservient type."

He looked directly at her then and she felt that jolt of adrenaline, the one that used to get her scrambling for small talk when Castle turned it on her. The one he'd turned on her in his office the night they'd come back from the fiasco in the LokSat hangar - the one that said, I know what you're doing.

"Do I know you from somewhere?" she went on, taking the offensive. "You look familiar."

"I have that kind of face," said her host easily. "I'm Michael Ryan. This is my place." He caught the attention of one of the staff, who sauntered out from behind the bar and came to their table.

"Boss?" said the young man, but his eyes were checking out Kate.

"Coffee for me," said Michael. "And the lady?"

"Something stronger?" asked Kate.

Both Michael and the waiter snorted; the waiter spoke to his boss in a language Kate recognized.

"горілка или молоко?" ("Vodka or milk?")

 _Ukrainian_ , she thought, _and Russian_. Maybe she was in Little Odessa. She knew how to survive in that environment.

"водочка." She snapped out the Russian word. The waiter was unfazed; he simply nodded and returned to the bar, bringing her vodka and Michael's coffee.

"Not from around here, are you?" asked Michael. He looked relaxed enough, but his eyes roamed the room as he spoke.

"No," said Kate. "Over the bridge."

Two things caught her immediate attention: the incredulous look on Michael's face, and the entrance of a tall, squarely-built man in a uniform she didn't recognize. The noise level dropped a few notches and the patrons started to look around warily. A few slipped out of the room, probably out a back door.

Michael didn't seem at all disturbed by the appearance of the uniform; he schooled his expression and then said mildly to Kate, "Severodvinskiy? or Kuznechevskiy?"

"Excuse me?"

"You said, over the bridge. Which one?"

Kate didn't recognize either of the words he'd just thrown at her, so she scowled at him and said, "Whichever you like. Does it matter?"

He sat back with a smug expression, as if satisfied with her response. Kate took a swig of her drink and let her gaze wander over the patrons of the cafe, trying to look nonchalant. Michael spoke in a low but well-pitched tone that reached her across the table.

"Do you even know what city you're in? What country?"

Kate turned to look him in the eye, refusing to shrink from his close scrutiny.

"Like I said, does it matter?" she said quietly.

"Depends on whether you want to stay," he replied. "See the fellow in the red uniform? He's a High Centurion. Not very high in the ranks, but high enough to make people disappear - or turn up in pieces. If you want to live, don't tell him you came across any bridge."

Kate's mind was reeling. Kuznechevsky? Centurion? Where the hell was she?

"What city is this, then?" she whispered.

"Arkhangel," said Michael. "In the Soviet Region of Ukraine. Occupied territory for ten years. You don't get out much, do you?" Then his expression hardened. "Drink your vodka. Now."

He sipped his coffee and looked around, then rose to greet the man in uniform with that bland smile.

"High Centurion," he said. "You honor my establishment."

"Yes," said the centurion. "I cannot stay, alas. I merely search for Captain Nevsky. I know she prefers this cafe in her off hours. Have you seen her?"

"Not today." Michael spoke with finality, but the centurion was not to be dismissed.

"I don't believe I've met your companion," he said, looking directly at Kate. She remained seated and met his gaze expressionlessly. He went on, "You would be even much more beautiful if you smiled, madame."

Out of the centurion's line of sight, Michael gave her an approving look.

"May I present my new friend," he began, obviously waiting for her to chime in, which she did.

"Katerina Castiliana," she said, taking the centurion's fingers briefly in her own. "I am an artist, from Kumyonsky District."

"Ah," said the centurion, then, in imperial Russian, " _so much beauty comes out of Kirov, and also so much sadness."_

 _You won't catch me out with that_ , Kate thought, and responded in accented English.

"To be sure," she said. "And who is to say which is the cause and which the result?"

Michael looked relieved. The centurion looked - impressed? He bowed over her hand and said, "Obviously I must look elsewhere for my wayward liaison. Good night, madame. Mr. Ryan."

Once the man was completely out the door, Michael's grip on his demitasse eased and he turned to Kate.

"You don't know where you are, and you don't recognize it when I tell you - and yet you speak perfect Russian. And Ukrainian, I'm guessing? Yet the centurion didn't know you."

"And I don't know him," Kate said. "Any more than I know you."

"That's your story," he returned. Draining his cup, he sat back and regarded her thoughtfully. "If you're a sympathizer, you're the least offensive one I've ever met. If you're a spy, then the centurion is a better actor than I thought."

"What if I'm neither?" Kate asked. "What if I'm - lost?"

In my own head, she thought. Fear was building in her gut - would she ever escape from these bizarre scenarios? Where were they coming from? Why was every incarnation of Castle a stranger to her?

She downed the rest of the vodka in one shot and slammed the glass down on the table.

"I don't have the answers." Michael's voice was quiet and somehow introspective. "Sometimes we have to live with the questions for a while, before we can find our way."

Swiftly Kate raised her head to stare at him, at his echo of words Castle had once said to her when they were first together.

_"We don't have the answers. We just have to live with the questions and … find our way."**_

"Rick," she whispered. "You've got to help me...Rick."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *горілка = Ukrainian for strong vodka-like drink. 
> 
> **"Cloudy With A Chance of Murder"
> 
> Michael Ryan, played by Nathan Fillion, was a main character in an episode of _The Outer Limits_ titled "Star-Crossed". In this universe, Russia has collaborated with an alien race called the Hing in order to conquer Europe, thus reinstating the Iron Curtain and trapping many ex-pats behind it. Think _Casablanca_ , relocated to Russia.


	13. Sharing a room

Richard Castle gazed across the room at his wife, too much space between them, and yet the best they could do under current circumstances. They were both bedridden, monitored, and medicated, but at least they were together.

He'd sold the doctors on the idea that his presence might help Kate, might provide some kind of emotional support. In the end, they'd consulted, concluded that it wouldn't do any harm, decided that both patients and doctors would benefit from what Castle called "one-stop doctoring", and moved them into the same room.

Never had Castle been so thankful for his thriving bank account. The room they were in was larger than usual, with a north-facing window (not too much direct sunlight); it was near the end of a corridor, not so close to the nurses' station as to be subjected to the typical sounds therefrom. Kate was moved first and settled in, and later that day Castle was installed with his bed and other paraphernalia as needed.

The room now seemed *too* big. He wished he could reach out and touch her, speak quietly to her, try to reach her with his voice if not with his hands. She lay far too still, though the monitors told an encouraging story. She was healing.

She was still unconscious, after three days.

The doctor had told him she was in a coma, not medically induced and not expected, though her injuries were serious. Brain function was normal for a comatose patient, and physically she was doing well.

Castle was healing as well - Caleb's bullet had lodged near his left shoulder, missing his heart and the major blood vessels but damaging his collarbone. He knew that Kate had suffered internal injuries. Nothing to suggest that a coma might be either recommended or spontaneous.

He took as deep a breath as he could and let it out slowly. Then he began to speak.

"Kate, it's me. Castle. Yeah, you can't get rid of me even when you're unconscious. I'm doing all right, but I'm worried about you. I wish you'd wake up and give me a hard time about something… anything.

"In case they didn't tell you, I took some damage to my clavicle, and my shoulder is a mess, but it should heal just fine. Won't stop me from writing, or any other of my favorite pursuits, including chasing after you. Laser tag might have to wait a bit.

"You're going to be fine, honey. You get the rest you need and come back to us, soon, okay? Listen, I couldn't see what was happening, back in the loft, but I saw Caleb fall down dead, and then I saw you fall - " Castle swallowed hard and his voice grew rough - "but then you were moving, taking my hand, and I thought, if I have to die, this is how it should be.

"Thank God we didn't die, Kate. We still have our whole lives ahead of us. I hope you want some little Castle babies; I know I do. Beautiful little girls with your eyes and your hair. I confess that I've hit my limit on redheads for one lifetime. Don't tell Mother and Alexis.

"Espo and Ryan have been here to visit, and Lanie, of course. Gates came by and took my statement herself. In spite of her promotion, she's still a cop at heart, and the higher-ups thought it would make good press, I suppose. I think she enjoyed seeing me immobilized like a fly in amber. Your dad is here every day, mostly in the evening. He's trying to stick to a schedule at the firm, because, as he says, you'd give him hell for taking time off just to watch you lie there.

"I don't mind watching you lie there… but I would love it if you opened your beautiful eyes and gave me that little smile you get when you're trying to be stern and failing miserably."

Castle's voice faltered to a whisper as he closed his weary eyes.

"Don't leave me, Kate. Stay with me. I love you."


	14. Alex Tully

"Get down and hang on!"

Kate obeyed; the man sounded desperate and angry and the car they were in was fishtailing all over the road. She fumbled for the seat restraints and got herself buckled in, then lifted her head from her low slouch to take a cautious look out the window.

Instantly a large hand landed on the top of her head.

"I said, get down!" roared the driver of the car even as she slapped his hand away. His hand returned to its iron grip on the steering wheel, high beams from some vehicle nearby illuminating his profile and showing up the blood on his left hand.

"What happened?" she asked, raising her voice over the thunder of the engine.

"To what?" he replied, not taking his eyes off the road.

"Your arm."

"No time," said the driver shortly. "Gotta put some distance between us and that maniac."

Kate fell silent as they pulled away from whatever was following them; her driver seemed to know the road well, as he made several lane changes and finally pulled onto an exit ramp, cutting the headlights and coasting to a stop behind the berm. Only then did he turn his gaze on his right arm, hissing and plucking at his sleeve.

"Damn it," he grumbled. "I need to clean this up. Check under your seat, should be a first aid kit."

Kate bent to retrieve the kit, opened it up and found standard emergency first aid materials. Her companion leaned over to seize the small bottle of alcohol and a roll of gauze, which Kate snatched right back, glaring at him.

"Get your shirt off, first," she told him.

"We don't have much time."

"Then don't waste it arguing."

He growled something under his breath, but complied with her demand, easing his arm out of its sleeve carefully. The upper part of his arm had been deeply scored and was bleeding steadily.

"GSW, upper arm," said Kate as she cleaned the wound. "Pretty straightforward – missed the major blood vessels. You might need stitches."

"Later," said the driver through clenched teeth. "Just wrap it up for now. What do you know about gunshot wounds?"

Kate concentrated on making a gauze pad and winding more gauze around his arm to keep the dressing in place. "Sad experience," she said. "What happened?"

"Shot while attempting escape," said the man grimly. "That was their plan for the report."

"Cops?"

"Looked like," he said. "The last cop who chained me up turned out to be a fake, though, so I wouldn't put my money on it."

"Do you have another shirt?" asked Kate. "This one's going to smell and feel nasty pretty soon."

"Bag in the back seat."

She reached back, coming up with a canvas bag, and rummaged until she found a dark blue t-shirt with long sleeves. By then her new friend had managed to get his soiled shirt off, which he rolled up in a ball and stuffed under his seat, but Kate hesitated when he held out his hand for the t-shirt.

"You're gonna mess it up trying to put it on," she said. "Let me."

He was silent as they got the right sleeve on, over the dressing. Kate took hold of the collar and said, "Try to keep your arm still. Duck your head."

Easing the opening over his head, she confirmed what she'd seen in his dark profile, that he had a thick, full head of hair and a squared-off skull, along with a longish, straight nose that hampered her progress momentarily. When his head popped through, he ran his left hand through his hair and looked at her straight on for the first time.

She almost kissed him, right then. He could have been her husband, from the look of grim determination in the face of pain, to the worry lines between his brows, to the penetrating blue of those eyes.

Kate collected herself and went on, getting the sleeve on his other arm and watching him flex his fingers and run his left hand through his hair.

"What's your name?" he asked quietly.

"Kate," she said. "Kate Beckett."

"Alex Tully," he replied. "How'd you get involved in this traveling circus?"

She had no idea what he was talking about.

"Just – got thrown into it," she said, thinking how true that actually was. "I'm trying to get home."

"And where's home?" His tone was studiously calm and Kate realized he was interrogating her, not just making conversation.

"I'd rather not say," she said, cautious in her turn. "Maybe it's wherever you're headed."

Alex started the engine and snorted. "More riddles," he said. "That's all I get. For all I know, I could have stayed home, stayed put, and Katherine would have come home to me regardless."

Katherine, thought Kate as they idled. "Your wife?" she asked, noticing the ring on his left hand.

"My wife," he said. "They took her, they've got her somewhere, and the only way I can find her is to go along with this stupid race. What about you?"

"Me?"

"What do they have on you, to make you come along for this ride?"

"I told you, I'm trying to get home."

Alex gunned the engine and entered a road that ran perpendicular to the highway they'd been on. As they peeled out, he said, "Why? What's waiting for you at home?"

"My husband." Her throat seemed to catch. "Rick. He was shot. I don't know anything about his condition."

"That explains your first aid skills," said Alex.

"I've had to use 'em often enough, over the past eighteen years," she said. "On him, on me, on my colleagues, on victims, on suspects."

There was a pause. Then Alex said coldly, "So you're a cop."

Kate hadn't heard that icy tone from Castle since the night he told her he'd figured out she was after LokSat. She sighed, "Yes, I'm a cop. Not one of that lot," gesturing behind them at their previous unseen pursuer. "New York City, Twelfth Precinct."

"Badge," he rapped out.

Kate had already been searching her pockets, to no avail.

"Don't have it," she said. "No badge, no wallet, no I.D. No nothing. You'll have to take my word for it."

Just then the shine of headlights approached from ahead, and as the other car passed its driver flicked on a spotlight of some kind, illuminating both their faces clearly. Alex shied away from the light, but it was too late; someone must have been looking for him and identified him. The other car swung in a tight circle to fall in behind them, tires screeching, though they still had a decent lead ahead of it.

Alex swore.

"Hang on tight, now," he told Kate. "We're going off road. Unless he knows this road better than I do, he's going to think we're driving off a cliff."

Kate grabbed whatever she could get a handhold on and tried to loosen her limbs, knowing that tensing up would just get her more pain -

\- just as their car lurched to one side - the wrong side - of the road, went up and over an embankment - miraculously landed right side up, and immediately spun sharply left. For a moment the right rear wheel spun in space over what was certainly a cliff; then Alex gunned it again and the car leaped forward on a dirt side road.

Kate's teeth were rattling in her head, her elbow had whacked something, and she had been thrown against the seat belt hard enough that she felt bruises forming on her hipbones.

Alex was worse off, she realized. There was blood seeping through the bandage, shining slick against his dark sleeve, and he was gasping and favoring his right arm. His shift arm.

"Pull over, let's swap," she urged him.

"Not gonna lose any more time," he insisted. "You don't know this road, either."

"It won't matter if you pass out from blood loss," she said. "You don't want to stop, just slow down and switch seats."

He gave her a look that was more astonished than angry, then fumbled for his seat belt latch, as did Kate. Once they were going about thirty miles per hour instead of eighty, Alex said, "I'm gonna pop the seat back. You just get on my lap and take the wheel, and I'll get out from under you."

"If I had a dime for every time I heard that," she retorted. As they made their move she caught a glimpse of his grin, which turned to a scowl when he shoved himself back and out of the bucket seat, tumbling into the back seat and giving her room to right the seat back and adjust the mirror.

"Hit it," he said. "Floor it. Head for that hill, right there, see it?"

"I see it," Kate replied. She slammed the gas pedal down and shifted gears, noting how much arm power she had to use to shift and steer at the same time. No wonder Alex's dressing had failed.

"When you get to that hill, go off the road and bear right. There's a barn there, you can cut the engine and the lights and we'll catch our breath for a second. About five miles ahead."

"This is a hell of a car," she said over her shoulder. "Dodge Challenger, 1972, I think?"

"My pride and joy," said Alex, climbing into the front passenger seat. "You know cars?"

"Some," said Kate. "Enough to know what a classic muscle car you got here."

Alex Tully gave her a long, searching look, then sighed.

"Well, if you appreciate my car, I guess you can't be all bad," he admitted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alex Tully (played by, surprise, Nathan Fillion) was one of an ensemble of characters in the TV mini-series _Drive_ , which aired in 2007. The make and model of his car was identified in the show and confirmed by the [Internet Movie Car Database](http://imcb.org).


	15. Do-over?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rick records some ramblings while sitting at Kate's bedside.

Dear Kate,

I'm recording this in case I'm not here when you wake up. Not that I'm planning on going anywhere, quite the contrary. I'm with you till the wheels fall off, and I can assure you from my wheelchair, the wheels are still firmly on.

I've been trying to think of ways to bring you around. Kissing did not work, even though I am your true love and you are a sleeping beauty. I suppose the absence of a curse or a spindle or an evil queen could be factors. (Believe me, I tested the theory, multiple times. The kissing part.)

I thought about reading to you from _The Butcherbird's Song_ , which might annoy you enough to wake up and yell at me. Then again, if our places were reversed, I'd hate for you to try that on me with, say, Patterson's stuff. So shock treatment is out.

The staff here have been so wonderful, Kate. They let me bring in your iPod and some little shelf speakers so you can hear Coltrane. I'm plotting to paint your toenails. Maybe a MARVEL/DC theme.

I'm in physical therapy now, since I'm off the IV and monitors and all. If you like the sight of me shirtless and sweaty, feel free to wake up so you can ogle.

Is this what it was like, when I was down with that poison Parker used? Did you sit by and talk to me? Maybe I could hear you, but I don't remember. I wonder how long I was unconscious on my ignominous return from that lost summer. I know you went out chasing clues, rather than sit at my bedside. Good for you. Sitting around waiting is neither your favorite thing nor mine.

_[later . . .]_

You know, when I was on that table with Flynn leering down at me, he said that you were the reason I was on that table, and that if offered a "do-over" surely I'd take it. Don't worry, I told him exactly how wrong he was. You are the love of my life, Kate, and I wouldn't give up anything in exchange for what we share, for what we've been through. And that includes this, the waiting, the pain, because neither of us has to go through it all alone.

_[clears throat]_

Well, there might be a few things I'd do differently. Remember when Will Sorenson showed up, on the Candela case? You got so fed up with the macho bickering that you said, "Why don't you both just drop your pants and get it over with?" Remember what I said? "I'm game." You should know better than anyone how fast I'd call your bluff. I should've just unzipped right then. Ryan and Espo would have busted a gut laughing. Not at me, of course - as you now know, I would have proved definitively that my pen is mightier than Sorenson's sword.

Maybe you would have changed your mind about turning me down once you saw what I had on offer.

Okay, you're unconscious, so I'll say it for you. "Dream on, Castle." And I will.

Let's see, what else? I would have told Demming to back off. Did you know he asked me if you and I were a thing? Asked if he was "offsides". I told him "no flag on the play". I was such a coward. Or maybe just too proud to entertain the idea that you'd be interested in anyone but me.

It was like a bad high school movie. Every time I turned a corner, there he was. Caught you two flirting and giggling more than once. And kissing - well, that was only once. That was when I started to consider going away for the summer, either to let you get on with whatever you wanted in life - or whomever - or to save myself from having to watch you fall in love with another man.

Okay, so then why did I ask you to come to the Hamptons, if I was so bent on being impartial and objective? Well, I guess my ego still thought I had a chance to win you, even with Demming hanging around. Doesn't make sense, I know - first I step aside, and then I try to get in his way! Anyway, when Gina called that night I was in such a funk that I was grateful for the distraction. I guess old times sounded pretty good at that moment.

Enough about Demming and Gina. When I came back from the Hamptons I could not figure out why all of you were so pissed at me. So I didn't write, I didn't call - I'm a guy! And you seemed happy enough to be rid of me in the summer. Once we got back on an even keel, I was sort of flattered that everyone seemed to have missed me. Contrary to popular belief, I'm not as narcissistic as I appear.

_[later . . .]_

Hey, it's me. I tried waking you with a kiss, again, and obviously it didn't work. Maybe the effect is cumulative. Regardless, I'm going to keep at it. See, I *can* stick to a task over time!

So many times I should have just kissed you, Kate. Lots of missed opportunities. That time we were talking about marriage and the day-to-day...I wanted to lean in and drop a kiss on the tip of your nose. You're so cute when you have short hair and a big attitude.

That "close encounters" case - waking up to the weight of your head on my shoulder, your wide eyes - I missed a chance there. Should have taken you in my arms and kissed you senseless. I could have blamed it on a confused mental state, but then you'd have said I'm in that state 24/7. So good with the comebacks, Detective Beckett.

I'm tempted to give you a hickey right now. Maybe that'd wake you up.

You know, Josh or no Josh, I should have kissed you in that freezer unit. I can only plead brain freeze. Besides, I'd want you to be conscious to enjoy it. I know I sound flippant, Kate, but truly I would have been content to die with you in my arms. Not just then, but so many times since.

Let's see...The freezer. The dirty bomb. The tiger, oh yeah, the tiger. That time we were stuck in your cruiser, sinking into the Hudson. The zombie horde - okay, so that wasn't actually a threat, but if it had been, I'd've stood by you until the grisly end.

Facing down Tyson on the bridge. Trapped in a basement with you and a guy who turned out to be a mob enforcer. Beating the clock on the bomb you were standing on. Waking up in the hospital after getting the antidote to that stuff I inhaled in DC. On the run with you, looking for Smith, finding the tape.

Here's one you weren't there for: the alternate universe, where you were already Captain, you hadn't solved your mother's murder, and I was a washed-up hack. I don't think I put this in the report, and I don't remember telling you about it. I was shot, took a couple of bullets meant for you - for her - and when I lay there dying, she asked me why I'd done it, and I said, "Because I love you, Kate."

Even if she wasn't "my" Kate, she was still Kate Beckett. And that's someone I care about in any incarnation, in any universe, at any time. But I thank the universe that I made it back to you.


	16. Captain Hammer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be warned that this chapter contains spoilers for the plot of _Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog_ as well as an alternate ending as imagined by me.

There seemed to be some kind of town hall ceremony going on. Kate stood in the back of the room, looking over some fifty or so people sitting in folding chairs in front of an empty podium.

"Scuse me," she murmured to a young woman standing nearby. "What's going on?"

"Oh, it's an announcement about the - whoops, don't wanna spoil it!" the woman exclaimed. "You'll see. Captain Hammer is going to make a speech. I can't believe this is really happening."

"You obviously know all about it," Kate smiled. Her new friend's enthusiasm was infectious. "What's your name?"

"Penny. What's yours?"

"I'm Kate."

"Oh, and this is - where'd he go?" Penny looked around and frowned. "My friend Billy was just here a moment ago. He's going to miss the speech if he doesn't hurry."

There was a stir among the crowd as someone approached the podium. When Kate saw who it was, she didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He was a ridiculous parody of Castle - as if someone had created a cartoon pseudo-hero of him, complete with oversized black gloves and a t-shirt with a hammer emblem on it. And a cheesy, condescending smirk as he looked out over the crowd and preened.

"Captain Hammer," breathed Penny. Kate looked over at her; she seemed to be in some kind of rapture, awed by the very presence of her hero. Kate stopped herself from laughing just in time - let the girl have her fantasies. Besides, this version of Castle might actually be a hero…

His next words obliterated that possibility. This Captain Hammer was obviously a narcissist who only ever did a good deed in order to gain attention, from the adoring public or from people like Penny. His speech started to ramble on about his own awesomeness, and he seemed about to wax poetic about having sex with Penny.

"Are you kidding me?" Kate muttered. "What a dou - I mean, a do-gooder," she amended as Penny turned to her.

What happened next was bizarre enough to stop Penny and everyone else in their verbal tracks. A man in a lab coat burst in through a back door brandishing a large weapon that looked like something from one of Castle's sci-fi video games.

"Why, he looks like - Billy!" Penny said. "Why is he going on about evil and - "

The man was indeed ranting, mostly at the crowd, but aiming the weapon at Captain Hammer, whose smirk had morphed into a self-rightous frown. For better or worse, the man in the lab coat (who identified himself as Dr. Horrible) fired his weapon at Hammer, who actually froze in place while the Doctor harangued the shocked onlookers.

"That's it," said Kate, then started to shout in her best cop voice. "Everybody, out. Clear the hall! Find an exit!"

That seemed to get people moving, even as Dr. Horrible went on singing, apparently oblivious to the departure of his audience.

"Give me a hand," said Kate to Penny, who was staring from Hammer to Horrible. Kate grabbed her arm and herded her toward the nearest clump of people. "Get these people out of here."

"But that's - Billy," Penny gasped. "He's trying to kill Captain Hammer! Billy!"

"Billy" halted in his tirade and turned slowly toward the sound of Penny's voice.

"Penny," he said in a strangled tone. "You're not supposed to be here. Get out! It's not safe!"

"But, Billy - "

"You mean, Dr. Horrible!" boomed the voice of Captain Hammer. He'd come un-frozen and was advancing on Dr. Horrible with characteristic swagger. He paused to pick up the freeze weapon that Horrible had dropped in the aisle and spared a moment to cast a glance over it.

"Another death ray?" Hammer sneered. "Let's see if this one - "

Kate hadn't been watching; the moment Horrible had turned his gaze back to his nemesis, Kate had hauled Penny over to an exit and shoved her through it. Ducking out after her, she slammed the heavy door shut and braced her back against it.

Penny was trying to get back in.

"I have to go in there!" she shrieked. "He'll kill him!"

Kate didn't know, and didn't care, which man Penny was worried about. She took hold of Penny's shoulders just as an explosion went off inside the building, and they were knocked off their feet by the shock wave. When Kate sat up, she saw that Penny was already standing, trying to get the door open.

"Don't," said Kate. "Do you want to get killed? Stay here."

She knew the door wouldn't open from the outside, so she left Penny there and circled round to another doorway, where the door had been blown off its hinges. Peeking into the hall, she saw Dr. Horrible standing over Captain Hammer, who was alive but cowering on the floor.

"Please," whined Hammer. "End it! Put me out of my misery! As long as it doesn't hurt."

"Drop the weapon," Kate barked. Though unarmed, she was hoping to get the drop on Horrible, get the strange gun away from him. But he just looked at her, then back at the man writhing on the floor, then let the weapon fall from his hand with a clatter.

"It's over," he said through clenched teeth. "You're over, Hammer. Everyone will know now, what a coward you really are, what an idiot. If I killed you, it'd make you even more a hero in their eyes. No, you get to live with your humiliation. And I - well, if that isn't enough to get me into the Evil League of Evil, I'll just have to start my own."

He kicked the weapon into a corner, far from Hammer, and came toward Kate.

"Penny?" he asked quietly. Kate was amazed at how sane this man looked, compared to the ex-hero whimpering across the room.

"Alive," said Kate. "Waiting for you, outside."

She was sure, now, which man Penny had been frantic for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog_ featured Felicia Day as Penny, Neil Patrick Harris as Dr. Horrible, and, of course, Nathan Fillion as Captain Hammer.


	17. Dogberry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short-ish bit with a twist on Castle's POV.

That night, when Castle climbed stiffly back into his own bed, he fell asleep almost immediately. His dreams no longer led him into Beckett's past - not that he'd remembered any, lately…

His eyes opened on a setting both oddly familiar and alarmingly unfamiliar. An office of some kind - small, obviously cobbled together from spare furniture and other elements. Two people were sitting at a table under a too-bright lamp, with another man hovering over them in the time-honored manner of interrogators everywhere.

Two other men stood nearby, heads together, comparing notes on their spiral pads, and a woman stood at a desk looking grim, staring at a thick sheaf of papers.

Then there was himself. Swiftly he took in his own appearance: light-colored slacks, basic undershirt and white button-down, sleeves rolled up, and, like the hovering man, a holstered gun at his side. When he glanced down, the sight of his unsightly, too-short tie convinced him that he was undercover - he'd never have worn this outfit in his own guise. Especially the tie.

Just then, the blonde woman at the table leaped to her feet, trying to evade the interrogator even as he finished cuffing her companion.

"Off, coxcomb!" she shouted at her would-be captor, but she came within range of Castle, in whom was stirring an odd feeling of recognition, and he seized her by the arms - and heard words spill from his own mouth.

"God's my life, where's the sexton?" he called out. "Let him write down the prince's officer coxcomb. Come, bind them."

The other officer tried to catch hold of the woman, but she flailed at him and at Castle, who was reminded of his mother when she was tipsy and in a fury. In this case, a brief slap-fest ensued.

"Thou naughty varlet!" he spat out. Upon that exclamation, he suddenly realized where he knew the words were from.

"Away!" snapped the woman. Looking Castle dead in the eye, she said loudly, "You are an ass. You are an _ass_!"

He stared back at her for a moment, during which the other officer caught and cuffed her.

"Dost thou not suspect my place? dost thou not suspect my years?" said Castle, glaring.

She was hustled away in handcuffs, and Castle was left with the shorter officer, a stressed-looking man with a mustache and a suit nearly identical to Castle's (the tie was the right length, but still ugly).

"O that she were here to write me down an ass!" Castle went on, savoring the words. He'd memorized this speech for an English class in the 9th grade. Mostly because he got to say "ass" in front of a teacher. "But, masters, remember that I am an ass; though it be not written down, yet forget not that I am an ass."

He shouted up the stairs, whereby the criminals had been escorted out, "No, thou villain, thou art full of piety, as shall be proved upon thee by good witness. I am a wise fellow, and, which is more, an officer, and, which is more, a householder, and, which is more, as pretty a piece of flesh as any is in Messina!"

He saw a jacket hanging on a rack and reached for it, swinging it around to don it with flair, and continued the speech. "And one that knows the law, go to; and a rich fellow enough, go to; and a fellow that hath had losses, and one that hath two gowns and every thing handsome about him."

There went the smooth delivery - Castle had grabbed the wrong jacket, obviously the one belonging to the smaller man, and in vain did he shove his hand into the sleeve, the other flapping half-on, half-off on his other arm.

 _Well, this_ is _a comedy_ , he said to himself. His companion was holding out the other (presumably larger) jacket with an air of respectful diffidence; Castle yanked off the ill-fitting item and flung it at the man, seized the other jacket, and pulled it on.

Looking around, it struck him that there was no audience - not even a television crew. Not really - just a fellow with a handheld camera, and pre-set lights on stands in a couple of places. No time to figure it out, he thought; it was time for his exit, if he recalled the play correctly. Thanks to his mother, he did.

"O that I had been writ down an ass!" he muttered and stalked out of the room and up the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Joss Whedon's 2012 film version of Shakespeare's _Much Ado About Nothing_ has many aspects to recommend it, one of which is Nathan Fillion as Dogberry, the constable.


	18. Cactoid Jim

Kate was watching a live show in a tiny venue. It was a nice change from having to interact with someone right off the bat, though she was getting good at that. The drink in front of her was red wine; she was seated at a little table among an audience of about sixty people, and the other two people squeezed in at her table were obviously wrapped up in each other.

A moment after she became aware of her surroundings, there was a fanfare of sorts and a voice from nowhere announced, "And now, coming to you from Hollywood, Los Angeles, California, America - it's the nation's favorite new-time podcast in the style of old-time radio - the Thrilling Adventure Hour!"

There were more introductions, a musical trio appeared in one corner of the stage, and she realized that the show was something like a re-creation of a vaudeville revue, complete with broad humor, witty repartee, and original music. The next story was about pioneers living on Mars, complete with a local Marshal (Sparks Nevada), a tracker named Croach, and cowboy Cactoid Jim. The twist tonight was that the part of Jim's wife, the Red Plains Rider, was to be thrown open to a volunteer from the audience.

As fate would have it, despite shrinking down in her seat (it was too tight a crowd to sneak off to the ladies' room), Kate had been plucked from the audience, taken backstage and given a script and a briefing by a lady with a tiny voice and a big grin.

"Just read the lines, honey," said the lady. "You'll warm up to it. The crowd loves audience participation."

She looked Kate up and down for a moment, apparently decided that she looked fine, and led her to stand in the wings. Kate took a few minutes to look over the pages, on which her part was highlighted in yellow.

She had just decided to relax and let whichever Castle was here come to her, when the trio launched into its theme song.

" _Born on a mountaintop way out west_

_Born tall and handsome and slim_

_An asteroid fell for a wild desert flower_

_Here's the story of Cactoid Jim!"_

Kate joined in on the "Yes, Lord!", grinning - most of the crowd seemed to be familiar with the tune - and as the song wound down to its ending, she turned her eyes to the man entering from the wings on the opposite side of the stage.

Damn it. There he was.

There was a twinkle in the man's eye as he surveyed the audience, not even pausing when his gaze swept over her table. He wore an unremarkable dark suit and loose tie and held a sheaf of papers in his hand. He looked like a born performer, and while Castle certainly liked being in the limelight, this fellow seemed to be in his native element as he began to speak.

She turned and whispered urgently at her guide, "Who is that, playing Cactoid Jim?"

The woman gave her an astonished look. "Are you kidding me? That's Nathan Fillion. You've never - oh, here's your cue, coming up."

The gentleman at the center stage mic grinned at her and spoke his line.

"That's no cavalry - that's my wife."

Kate squared her shoulders and strode onto the stage, standing where she'd been directed, in front of a mic on a stand. The bright lights didn't bother her - it meant she couldn't see the audience at all. She could certainly hear them - her entrance brought on a roar of approval and a few wolf whistles. She took a deep breath and got directly in touch with her supreme annoyance at this whole universe-jumping nightmare.

"Cactoid James," she announced into the mic, "I am here to outright murder you!"

The momentarily chastened look on his face gave her pause - she saw that look on Castle's face on a regular basis - but she carried on, walking over to stand beside him, still ranting.

"I am far too ornery at you," she said, adding a bit of twang to her tone, "for you to 'howdy' your way back into my good side."

"Well, then how's about if I try this," he smirked. His hand came to rest on her waist and he leaned in to land a kiss on her cheek. Kate had no problem acting mildly appeased - something she did on a regular basis as well.

The show continued. She tried to concentrate on her part, but he was so distracting! He smelled good - but not like Castle - he was every bit as well-groomed and handsome, his voice just as playful and mellow as Castle's.

They got through the show just fine. Kate had to stifle her own laughter occasionally at the sharp humor of the script, then sobered when her character had to bid adieu to Cactoid Jim.

"Red Plains Rider," he intoned, gazing sadly at her. "You are the strongest, most strengthful woman I ever shook hands with...much less got stuck to in my heart forever. You got your mind put to it, you could do anything, anywhere…"

She was hard put to utter her lines; it was like hearing Castle's voice, encouraging her, exhorting her. Anything, anywhere...but she had to get to him. Get out of her injured, scrambled brain.

The trio struck up a mournful chorus, and Kate tugged on Castle's - Nathan's - Jim's lapel to bring him down for a quick kiss before she made her exit. The curtain began to close, slowly, and Nathan stepped forward with a gesture of grief - right into the curtain line. A flash of silliness, then he too was hidden from the crowd, and he turned to his fellow cast members and gave a fist-pump.

Without further ado, the cast scuttled back into the shadows, and the lead actors took up spots for their curtain calls. Kate felt a hand on her elbow and looked around to find it belonged to, yep, Nathan. He was smiling like a kid with a favorite toy.

"C'mon, you too," he urged.

"No, no, I was just - "

In a very Castle-like manner, he hustled her over to stand beside him on stage as the curtain opened. There was another roar, this time one of praise, and when Nathan took his bow and stepped back, he gestured for Kate to bow as well.

When the curtain closed again, the cast seemed to dispense with their onstage personas entirely, chattering and high-fiving each other. Kate sidled toward the stage exit - but once more, she was captured by a warm hand and a big smile.

"Come to the party," he said. "Right through here. Unless - someone's waiting for you?"

"Um, no," she said. "Not really. I can't - "

She was about to say she couldn't stay long, but a sudden wave of longing and weariness made her wish she could stay for good. That wasn't fair to Castle, she knew - but how did she know he was even alive? And here was this man, so like her own man, and yet even though he kept emerging in her dreams, it wasn't him. It would be like accepting a pale copy of her Castle.

"I can't stay long," she said firmly. "Maybe one drink."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _The Thrilling Adventure Hour_ is a real podcast and live performance company, which can be found on YouTube and on Nerdist.com. Nathan Fillion has been a guest several times, playing (among others) the part of Cactoid Jim. This particular episode is #92, "MurderMen", and it was featured on the _Castle_ Season 4 DVD extras.


	19. Motion

"She's moving," Castle called out, even before his urgent button-pushing brought the pitter-patter of little medical feet through the door to their room.

The nurse went directly to Kate, sparing Castle a glance to be sure he was all right. He could hear humming from Kate's bed - broken, but familiar - and see her feet moving under the sheet. He couldn't see her face.

"She hasn't moved before, has she?"

"Not to my knowledge," said the nurse - Anjali - calmly checking readings and observing her patient's movements. "Don't try to get out of bed, Mr. Castle."

Dammit, nurses were like mothers - eyes in the backs of their heads. Castle lay back and asked meekly, "Any idea what this might mean?"

"Let me call the doctor," said Anjali. "I'd rather not guess. You, stay put."

Castle normally got a kick out of being scolded by the nurses; this time it took all his will to stay put. Fortunately, the doctor on call arrived within ten minutes, during which Castle could hear his wife still humming, though her feet had ceased their movement.

"Mr. Castle? I'm Doctor Volodny. I've checked in on you and your wife occasionally, during the night shift, so I have a passing acquaintance with your case." The man smiled over at Castle, then returned his attention to Kate's chart.

"Is she conscious?" Castle couldn't help asking. He felt so helpless, so near and yet so far, but he knew better than to interfere with the experts.

"Hmm, not really," said the doctor. "She is showing signs of emerging from the coma, into normal sleep. Excellent. I'll check again in a couple of hours."

Well, that was anticlimactic, Castle thought. He waited until he was fairly sure the staff weren't hovering near his door, then got himself out of bed and over to the chair next to Kate. The chair was a comfy one - he'd had it brought in as soon as he was detached from the wires and tubes.

Kate looked just the same as the day before. She was no longer humming and she lay still, until Castle shifted the chair forward a bit and took hold of her hand in both of his. Her head turned toward him, as was her habit when he was restless at night, and he was buoyed by the familiar gesture.

"Come back to me, Kate," he whispered and kissed her hand.


	20. Malcolm Reynolds

"Well, I guess we'll see you on Persephone, then," said a woman's voice, low and deep.

Wearily Kate closed her eyes and gathered what information she could about her current surroundings. It smelled like that dude ranch they'd visited on their faux honeymoon, only stronger. There was a pungent odor of soy behind the smell of wood and leather and dirt; the air was not warm, and full of the sounds of people talking and drinking. A saloon.

"You all right, miss?" That was a man, not Castle's voice, brighter and higher pitched than his, and uneasy to boot. Kate opened her eyes.

It was definitely a bar of some kind, built of raw and unfinished wood. The hand-scrawled signage behind the bar was in both English and Chinese; the smell of soy and chicken came from a kitchen doorway behind the bar, and she was sitting at a table with two people. Three, if you counted the man with his back to her, scanning the room, clad in a dark brown coat that looked like worn leather.

The woman was dark-skinned, with long wavy hair barely contained in a clip, and her gaze was fixed on Kate as if waiting for a reply. She sat very still, but Kate could tell a battle-ready posture when she saw it.

The man who had spoken looked like the complete opposite of the woman. He was fair, his blond hair almost silver, with bright blue eyes, wearing a gaudy camp shirt. He was fidgeting, trying to glance around without looking like he was looking.

"Miss?" he repeated quietly.

"Yes, I'm fine," said Kate. "Sorry. It's been a long day. You were saying?"

"I was saying that you should give us the call sign of the ship that's taking you to Persephone," said the woman. "In case something comes up and one of our parties doesn't show. Can't exactly ask anyone over the Core on this kind of job."

She cast a disapproving glance at the back of the silent man's head.

Ship. Persephone. Core. _Wait a second_ , Kate thought - _I know these people. It's that Joss Whedon show Castle used to love_.

"I don't think that'll be necessary," she said, going for a bluff. "We've agreed on the time and place."

 _We have_ , she thought frantically, _please tell me that we have…_

The man who had heretofore remained silent said over his shoulder, "Necessary ain't the question, miss. You don't give us the skinny, you don't get what you want on Persephone."

"I've got to have something in reserve," said Kate, stalling. "In case you turn out to be Alliance."

The man turned in his chair to face her fully. His expression was determined, his eyes ablaze with indignation.

"You don't know me," he said in a low voice, "so you get a pass, this time, on making that implication. Wouldn't be smart of you to do it ever again."

"She has a point, though, sir," said the woman - Zoe, Kate recalled - unexpectedly. "We've got what we need to find her when we're all dirtside, don't we?"

She looked at the blond man, who shrugged and said, "Sure. It's a big planet, but those coordinates are spot on. And like you pointed out, Mal, we can't take her on _Serenity_ anyway, they're watching it like hawks."

Kate held their leader's gaze, hoping he'd listen to his crew, but equally wishing she could go with them on their ship. Regardless of his affront, she'd feel safer in any scenario with Castle at her back. Even if he wasn't really Castle.

"Local constabulary at the north door," said Zoe suddenly. "Just looking, not coming in."

"Guess this discussion's over, then," said the captain. "What's it gonna be, miss?"

Kate caught a sense of rising tension in the room; the blond man was muttering under his breath in what sounded like Chinese. She glanced over at Zoe and asked, "Looking for you folks, maybe?"

"Not specifically," replied that lady. "Just cruising for leftovers."

"Check the back doors," said Mal, standing and trying to look casually around. "Zoe, you're with me. You two, stay put."

"Try to keep your hands off my wife, Mal," said the blond man. Zoe rolled her eyes and she and the captain sauntered away toward the back of the bar.

"Leftovers?" Kate said, lost.

"I know, it sounds barbaric," said the blond. "I'm Wash, by the way, nobody introduced us, but then that's how those two roll. I'm the pilot."

"And you're married to Zoe…"

"Right. Very much so. And on this world, if you ain't married or sworn to anyone, and you're a woman, the law has a right to round you up and take you someplace to get you married. Whether you want to or not."

"What? Why?"

Her new friend didn't seem fazed that she knew so little about the culture. Then again, he just seemed the chatty type.

"Well, the men on this rock outnumber the women, and since the men are in charge, they figure that each man is entitled to have his own woman. That's the only reason why I was invited to this little rendezvous, to vouch for Zoe's marital status. Captain needs Zoe, and the easiest way for her to pass ungrabbed is for her to bring along her actual spouse. So here I am."

Kate was beyond shocked, even more so than when she'd realized they weren't on Earth. "What about - Mal?" was the only thing she could think of to say.

"Don't worry about Mal - it ain't single men they're looking for. And if the law comes over here while it's just you and me, be ready to act like I'm your husband. Maybe you should come sit over next to me."

He looked less than happy about the idea.

"What the - "

Kate was unable to finish any kind of a sentence; just then Zoe and Mal reappeared with displeased expressions.

"There's two just outside the back door," Zoe muttered. "Probably to catch anyone thinking they might slip out that way."

"The one in front just came inside," said Mal with a fake smile at Kate. He turned his back to the door and leaned over the table, lowering his voice. "You know what they're looking for, don'tcha?"

Kate nodded grimly. "Unattached women. Maybe I should let 'em catch me - it's one way out of here."

" _Wo de tien a_ ," he hissed. "No guarantee you could get away once you were outside. Much as the alternative might not appeal to you, you're gonna have to play at being a wife. And things being what they are numbers-wise, that means _my_ wife."

If he weren't so obviously annoyed at the idea, Kate would have laughed.

" _So, we're married."_

" _We are not married."_

" _Relax, it's just pretend."_

" _I don't want to pretend."_

" _Scared you'll like it?"_

" _Okay. If we're married, I want a divorce."_

\- Castle 1x05, "A Chill Goes Through Her Veins"

Instead, she decided to unleash her own annoyance in an arguably productive manner. Standing abruptly, she grabbed hold of the front of Mal's shirt and yanked him to within kissing range, then planted her lips on his hard and fast.

"I've had enough of the chit chat," she snapped as she pulled back. "You haul me halfway across the galaxy to talk business with this - this - "

She gestured at Wash, who had a suitably shocked expression.

"And now you want to buy him another round? I am not going to sit here and listen to more of this. I'm going back to the ship. I don't care if there's a posse out there. If you aren't gonna treat me right - "

Her tirade, which honestly was starting to run dry, was interrupted by her faux husband, who had peeled her hand off his shirt and seized her shoulders in his own hands, then plunged in to return her kiss. With interest.

When he released her, he spoke shortly, in the general direction of Zoe and Wash.

"We're done here. Anything else, you wave me. I got to deal with this."

"This" being Kate, who found herself dragged by the hand toward the back of the bar, toward the guarded back door. She was confused - shouldn't they be going out the front? but as she opened her mouth to ask, Mal came to a halt in a dim hallway near what appeared to be a bathroom.

He pressed her back against the wall and buried his face in her neck, mumbling.

"We go out the front, they'll just tail us until we split up," he explained. "Just gotta look convincing enough so they go away and haunt someplace else."

Convincing? He wanted convincing? Kate Beckett would give him convincing. She sank one hand into the hair at the back of his neck, the other clutching at his waistband to yank him closer. She felt him catch his breath; then his open mouth was sliding up her neck, pausing to tease the shell of her ear, and that made her shudder (it always did) and turn her mouth to seek his.

He met her eagerly, kissing her more deeply than before, leaning his weight on one hand on the wall while his other hand dropped down to smooth over her backside. Not a delicate touch, nor a rough grope; the hand of a man who knew a woman's body and who could take his time exploring, for the pleasure of both parties.

As for Kate, her head was spinning and she was aware of making soft wanting noises into his mouth. This was not at all like kissing a stranger - this was exactly how Castle kissed, the nights when they were so hungry for each other that they didn't make it to the bedroom.

She hooked a knee over his hip, and the hand on her ass moved to support that leg, tugging her hips hard against his as their kiss went on and grew more and more heated.

Kate's eyes were half-open, which was how she spotted the door behind Mal opening and shutting, the brief light blocked further by a large moving body. The man moved up behind Mal, not too close, but before he could do anything Kate freed her mouth and caught Mal's chin in her hand.

"Now," she purred, "how about we get back to the ship and enjoy some conjugal bliss?"

For better or for worse, Mal was not so distracted as to lose sight of their predicament. For the benefit of the thug behind him, he rolled his hips against hers and growled, "I thought you liked it rough, _bao bei._ Sure worked for you on our wedding night."

"Rough, sure," said Kate. "Public, not so much. We have an audience."

Mal did not turn, but said something curt over his shoulder in Chinese, adding, "I got her fair and square. You go find your own doxy."

Kate gave him a shove and made a show of straightening her clothes. "Such a sweet talker," she said sarcastically. "You coming, Cap?"

She turned to walk back to the main room, not looking to see whether she was followed but listening for footsteps. Fortunately, she only heard one set of them and they weren't the jack-booted thug variety.

Mal caught up with her when she got to their table, where Wash was finishing a drink and Zoe was casting her gaze over the room.

"How'd you two make out?" asked Zoe with a straight face. (Wash did a spittake.)

Kate just smiled and ran her hands through her hair. Mal shifted his stance and said something in Chinese that made Zoe laugh; then he turned to Kate and said, "You know, I think we can take you to Persephone after all."

"Wait, won't they be watching? How are you gonna explain - ?" Wash sputtered.

"I'll think of something," said Mal, his eyes still on Kate's. " _Dong ma?_ "

Kate wasn't sure what that meant, but she hoped it was a request for consent. Reaching for his hand, she twined her fingers with his and smiled.

"Yes, dear," she said with mock modesty. Malcolm Reynolds grinned at her.

"Shiny."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chinese a la Firefly:
> 
> wo de tien a - my God
> 
> bao bei - treasure, precious one (sweetheart)
> 
> For those just now discovering the many roles of Nathan Fillion, he played Captain Malcolm Reynolds on the TV series _Firefly_ in 2002 and again in the film _Serenity_ in 2005.


	21. Simone Renoir

This time, the woman in Castle's dream recognized him… but she wasn't really Kate, after all.

They sat side by side on a bench, watching the horizon where a sunrise was imminent. He wasn't sure where they were, but it didn't matter. She turned to look into his eyes with a gentle smile, her hand in his.

"Kate," he whispered.

Her smile grew wider. "That is one of my names," she said, and her voice had a lilt in it he hadn't heard before, as though English were not her native tongue.

"It's what I call you," said Castle. "Who are you, then?"

She turned to gaze at the faintly lightening sky. "I have always been Simone," she murmured. "I have had many names over the centuries, but I was born Simone. And I will die Simone."

"Die?" Rick felt a stab of alarm. "You - you're going to die? Why?"

"Oh, Richard." She shook her head. "You know why. We have defeated the evil one. I can rest now. I just want to share this sunrise with you, before I go."

Rick's mind raced through the scant clues she'd just given him and suddenly recalled a story Kate had once shared with him. At the same moment, he realized she was humming the same fragment of a tune that he'd just been hearing from Kate.

"You're a vampire," he said, thinking fast and speaking slowly. "You've been guarding an artifact for hundreds of years, and you're weary. The artifact has been removed to safety, your nemesis has been destroyed, and now… you're waiting for the sunrise to take you away."

She looked him in the eye again and gave a little laugh.

"Bravo, Richard Castle," she said. "You've heard my story before."

"So I know how it ends. But I have to know - when you go - when you die," he took a deep breath. "Will Kate die as well?"

" _Cheri_ ," she said, taking his face in her hands, "it's my time to go, not Kate's. You must not try to hurry her; you must be patient."

"I love her, so much," said Rick with tears in his eyes. "I don't know what to do."

"Give her time." Simone leaned in to kiss his lips, lightly, and he resisted the urge to sink deeper into the kiss. She sat back, still holding his hand, and looked out at the sky.

"It's beautiful," she breathed. "It has been four hundred years since I have seen the sun rise."

Rick saw her outline begin to glow and soften; the tips of her hair sparkled as the sunshine touched them. Her face was full of delight and joy even as her form began to fade into transparency. She'd waited so long for this moment. He could try to be patient for Kate, wait until she was ready to come back to him, from wherever she was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stana Katic played Simone Renoir, a beautiful vampire living in New Orleans, in _The Librarian: Curse of the Judas Chalice_ , 2008.


	22. Abe Dale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for the end of _White Noise 2: The Light_.

"Castle?"

Kate coughed out the word through the thick fog.

"Castle, where are you?"

The cacophony that hit her ears seemed to clear the fog, showing her the worst nightmare yet. She was standing in a diner; it was night, and the place was less than half full. There were two cops flanking her, both with guns drawn, one having just fired -

At the man who was flung back against the counter with two holes in his chest. The gun in his hand was pointed, not at the police, but at a blonde woman standing several feet to his left. She screamed at the same time Kate did and both of them watched in horror as he crumpled and slid to the floor, his eyes on the woman as she dropped to her knees beside him.

Everyone was shouting except Kate and the other woman, who seemed unaware of Kate or anything but the dying man. The man who looked like Castle. His lips were moving, trying to form words, still looking at the blonde.

"Castle," Kate choked out. "Rick."

He didn't even look her way, but said hoarsely to the other woman, "You have to die."

She nodded slowly, tears in her eyes, and slid the gun he'd been holding into her pocket. She rose to her feet, and it was then that the man's gaze turned to Kate, with something like faint recognition. His lips were moving again.

Confused, frightened, stunned, Kate leaned down to catch his words.

"You get to live."

His eyes drifted to a spot over her shoulder, and his lips twitched in a last smile, as though he saw someone he knew there. Knew and loved - Kate knew that expression, had seen it when he'd faced death, both fearful and yet determined to give her his own way of farewell.

She'd last seen it on his face as they lay on their kitchen floor, bleeding.

The other woman had moved away, one of the cops was checking for a pulse on the man's neck, and no one seemed to see Kate at all. She watched the light in his eyes fade and go out.

What the hell was she here for? To watch this man die? What did he mean when he said, "You get to live"?

"This isn't living," she said aloud. "It isn't even dying. I have to find him - how can I find him?"

The scene faded back into fog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nathan Fillion played the doomed Abe Dale in the film _White Noise 2: The Light_ , 2007.


	23. The Blue Butterfly

"Castle!"

Even as Kate became aware of her surroundings, his name burst from her in frustration. Dammit, this wasn't the hospital, either - it was a grungy alley with an old car parked on one side, a nondescript door opposite. It was night, and chilly; she reached to pull her jacket around her and found -

She had no jacket. She did have on a long, slinky gold dress and stiletto heels, and something heavy was suspended from a chain around her neck. When her hand rose to touch it, she realized what scenario this was.

The pendant was a bejeweled butterfly. A blue butterfly. This was 1947, and she was here in the persona of Vera Mulqueen.

The door onto the alley opened and a tall, broad figure filled its frame, paused for a moment, then came quickly over to her.

"Castle," she breathed as he caught her in his arms, and she didn't care whether this was Joe Flynn or her own Rick Castle. All she remembered was that this was the point in the story where Vera and Joe ran away with each other, and she was ready to run with this incarnation of Castle, a hard-boiled but honest private eye who, she knew, loved Vera with all his heart.

She lifted her face for his kiss, but it didn't land - he was staring down at her as though she'd slapped him, searching her eyes.

"Kate?" he whispered with something like hope, and her heart leaped.

"Rick!"

Kate threw her arms around his neck and he held her tight, both murmuring exclamations of shock and relief.

"What the hell is going on?" Rick asked once coherent speech returned.

"I don't know. How did you get here?"

"I'm - I think I fell asleep. I was inside the bar, and I thought I was dreaming. What about you? You've been - "

He broke off, looking apprehensive, then took a deep breath and went on.

"Kate, you've been in a coma for several days."

"What?" she gasped. "Why? I was shot - you were shot - are you all right?"

"I'm fine," he said. "Through and through. You lost a lot of blood - you needed surgery - they said you'd be okay in time, but then you wouldn't wake up. Last I heard, your brain activity had picked up; they thought you'd come out of it soon."

Kate's mind was reeling. Several days? A coma? Is that where she'd really been, instead of bouncing between universes like a pinball? Well, at any rate, here she was with the right man, and she wasn't going to lose him this time.

"Rick - let's just get in the car and go. Somewhere, anywhere. Like Vera and Joe."

Not for the first time, she was grateful for his ready participation in an explicable situation. He looked around the alley.

"Better get going before Sally and her hubby show up," he said, grabbing her hand and moving toward the car door.

"Well, aren't you a picture."

As if in slow motion, the action of the original story unfolded - with one significant change. This time, after Sally accidentally shot her husband, she screamed and lunged at Castle, who spun Lenny around and shoved him at her; when they collided the gun went off once more, and both Sally and Lenny fell dead on the gritty ground.

Kate and her husband exchanged a look.

"We'd better follow the original plan," said Rick. While he lifted the bodies into the car (trying not to look at the one that resembled Alexis), Kate discovered a can of gasoline stashed nearby, probably for their original getaway. Rick doused the car, then lit a match and tossed it onto the gas-soaked car, which started to blaze fiarly quickly.

Without a word, Kate pulled the pendant from her neck and handed it to Rick, who duly wrapped it in a handkerchief and stowed it in the hiding place they'd heard about from Jerry and Viola.

When he stepped back, Kate took his hand.

"What now?" she asked.

"I don't know," said Rick. "But whatever happens next, I am not letting go of you for a second. I don't care if I lapse into a coma too, as long as we're together, Kate."

"Well," said Kate practically, "we should probably leave the scene of the crime, anyway."

They took a deep breath and, holding tightly to each other's hand, disappeared into the shadows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those not completely familiar with _Castle_ canon, this scenario is from season 4, episode 14, "The Blue Butterfly". Nathan Fillion, in addition to playing Richard Castle, represents P.I. Joe Flynn in the episode flashbacks, and Stana Katic plays both Kate Beckett and Vera Mulqueen.


	24. Denouement

"Kate."

It wasn't Castle's voice. She ignored it.

"Kate. Wake up, now. Come on. Open your eyes."

A woman's voice - vaguely familiar. Someone was holding her hand - no, her wrist - and cool fingers were gently pulling her eyelid open. She couldn't see anything clearly, but the room was bright. Too bright. She tried to protest, but her body would not respond.

Then, a voice that was the sweetest sound she knew. A man, his tone low and rough, as though he'd just woken up.

"Kate, it's okay. Wake up. Come back to me."

The woman's voice again. "Her pulse is picking up. Keep talking, Mr. Castle."

"Not a problem," said Castle, and Kate could hear the underlying amusement in his tone. "Kate - we were in the alley, remember? Behind the Pennybaker Club. You and me, and the Blue Butterfly. We were running away, and then the fog - "

The fog - it had rolled back in, Kate had lost sight of the man only inches away from her and clutched his hand even more tightly. Desperate to come through the confusion with him, wherever they ended up.

" - and I woke up holding your hand, right here. I'm right here, Kate. Tina's trying to help you now, but you have to try harder - "

Kate managed to emit a noise that came out something like a gargle, tried to move her lips, but they were so dry. Someone dripped a bit of water between them, easing her tongue and throat, and she made another noise that sounded like, "Castle."

"Yeah, that's it. Her eyes are open partway - can she see anything?"

"Probably just the lights," said the voice of Tina. "Here comes doctor now."

Another woman's voice said, "Ms. Beckett, coming back to us, are you? It's Dr. Wells. Squeeze my hand if you can hear me."

Kate squeezed as hard as she could, which wasn't much, but which seemed to please the doctor.

"Good, you're doing good. Mr. Castle, why don't you come round to this side and hold her hand. There you go."

The doctor's voice migrated over to Kate's left side and Castle's warm grip took hold of her right hand. She struggled to make another sound but didn't feel she was getting enough air, so instead she concentrated on her vision, blinking several times, trying to focus.

"Can we dim the lights a bit?" Castle asked.

"For a few minutes," said the doctor. "I need to be able to monitor her pupils."

The stress on Kate's vision eased a little; blinking helped moisten her eyes, and she tried looking this way and that without moving her head. When she spotted a blue-and-white blob that was probably Castle in a hospital gown, she squeezed his hand and felt her lips turn up in a smile that probably only she could detect.

"Hey," said Castle. "Welcome back."

"Did I - " At last Kate's vocal cords started working, though she sounded creaky. " - go somewhere?"

"Thought you did," Castle replied.

"Been right here, the whole time," she said, but then memories of her dreams came flooding back into her mind and she found herself panicking.

"Kate, what is it? Is she okay?" Castle turned to the doctor and nurse.

"Won't go back," Kate gasped. "Don't let me. Don't let go."

"I won't, not ever," her husband promised. "You're here with me, and here you're gonna stay."

"That's also my medical opinion," said Dr. Wells dryly. "You've been regaining consciousness for a couple of days now, Ms. Beckett, and there are no signs of a relapse."

Kate's breathing evened out and her vision began to clear - enough for her to make out a beloved face, sporting a wide grin and a spectacularly disheveled case of bedhead.

"Where did you think you were?" he asked softly.

"So many places," she told him. "Somewhere by a lake. And in a theater. And someplace called Llanview. And...the Ukraine, I think." She took his hand and focused on his face, recalling the various versions of it she'd seen lately. "You were there, in every one. Well, not you exactly - someone like you, in every dream."

"And here I thought there was no one like me," Rick mock-pouted.

"Someone who looked like you," she persisted, "and in some ways, talked or moved the way you do. But it wasn't you, until we got to the Pennybaker Club. The last time."

"I just put my head down for a minute, on your bed," said Rick. "I must have fallen asleep. I did dream about the case, but you're right - it was you and me."

Kate gave him a weary smile.

"Is this where I say, 'there's no place like home'?" she asked.

He leaned in and kissed her, his lips warm on hers.

"Now," he said with a mischievous gleam in his eye. "Tell me about all these other Castles."


End file.
